Gender Bender
by Fluid Consciousness
Summary: What happens to Clarissa Cousland when Duncan decides it's in her best interests to pretend to be a man upon their arrival in Ostagar? Will she able to bite back the rising tide of emotion she feels for a fellow Grey Warden? Slightly A/U.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

**A/N: **I always found it funny that as soon as you're greeted in Ostagar, it's like the entire camp knows of your existence. Wouldn't that be a bit dangerous considering Arl Howe had just slaughtered your entire family? I decided to have a bit of fun.

* * *

**1. Clarissa**

I watched them fall. I witnessed the betrayal and the cowardice. My armour is stained with the blood of men I'd befriended at the castle, my home. My armour is stained with the blood of my sister and nephew. My armour is stained with the blood of my father.

I am stained.

The Grey Warden, Duncan, has taken me with him to find refuge within the ranks of the other Wardens. He is my saviour, but I find little comfort in this. We travel to Ostagar. I wonder if Howe's men will meet us there with blades drawn. Perhaps it is too late for my brother. I do not relish the idea of telling him his entire family has been slaughtered. I secretly and selfishly hope that I **am** killed when we arrive.

We set up camp for the night. I warm myself by the fire, dressed only in a tunic and linen pants. My mabari war hound, Scrags, lays next to me. I wash the blood from my armour. I can feel Duncan's gaze and I want to scream at him to leave me be. Instead, he offers me a bowl of stew. I thank him and dig into the food despite having no appetite.

"This is bloody awful," I grumble. He laughs at this, and I can't help but crack a smile. Is it proper to smile after such events? I wish they'd made a rule book on grief.

"I am concerned that Howe will hear of your arrival and send men after you, as he has no doubt done the same for your brother," Duncan points out. He certainly doesn't mince words. I stare at my stew and say nothing. "We need to find a way of keeping your identity a secret," he continues.

"Do you have any suggestions?" I ask. Famous last words.

"Arl Howe knows that I'm interested in recruiting you. A female Grey Warden is not an everyday occurrence. In fact, they're quite rare. If you were a man, on the other hand…" He pauses to spoon some stew into his mouth. "No one would be the wiser. Howe would probably suspect that you'd been killed in Highever. It could buy us some valuable time."

I didn't like where this chain of thought was headed. "Don't tell me. You want me to pretend to be a man," I mutter. Duncan simply nods in reply.

"Because you're a warrior, and you wear splint mail, it will be quite easy to conceal your figure," he points out. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks and I stare down at the curves that the maker had bestowed upon me. No amount of physical training had depleted the soft curves of my chest and hips. I had once been proud of this fact. Now it was a hindrance. "We will need to cut your hair," he goes on, "and I'm afraid that talking is out of the question. We will have to tell everyone that you're mute." My mouth hangs open.

"I can't talk?! Maker's breath, that's ridiculous!"

"You sound like a woman," Duncan states calmly. "As soon as you open your mouth everyone will know." He studies me closely. "Your facial features are quite feminine, but we can always pass that off as your being young." We continue to eat our stew in silence while watching the fire. I know that he wants to be reassuring. He wants to tell me I made the right decision. I see his furtive glances but remain impassive. I am in no mood to placate his desire to make me feel better. He seems to think better of speaking and instead reaches to his side and extracts a dagger from its scabbard. I guess it's time for my haircut.

"How short are you going to make it?" I ask petulantly. "I mean, yours is long. Why can't I just be a boy with long hair?"

Duncan cocks an eyebrow as though amused by my question. "The long hair only adds to your feminine traits. If you had, say, a beard, then perhaps you could keep the hair. Unfortunately for you your face is beard free."

I sigh, my shoulders hunched in resignation. I stand and wander over to him, sitting before him so that my back faces him. "Alright, do it." I feel him bunch my hair into a ponytail in his fist, and I wince as he begins to saw through my tresses. My wavy red hair falls to the dirt in clumps and I can't help but feel an overwhelming sorrow. My life as a Cousland is over. Duncan continues to chop away at my hair as the tears weave bitter trails down my cheeks. I'm crying for father, for mother, for Oriana and Oren. My tears spill for Ser Gilmore and the other men who fell defending the castle. I weep for Fergus, hoping that he'll be alive when we reach Ostagar, yet I also hope for his death so that he may know peace with his family in the hereafter.

I'm also crying because I _really_ liked my hair.

"It is done," Duncan intones. I reach up with a shaky hand. As promised, my hair has been shortened to resemble a man's hairstyle. "It's a shame you're not elven," he remarks. "Then we would have an excuse for your dainty face. As it stands, you look a bit like a pixie."

I scowl at his remark. Never, in all of my life, have I ever been compared to a pixie. If Fergus had heard that, he probably would have fallen over himself laughing. "This is never going to work!" I moan desolately. "No one's going to believe it."

I turn to face Duncan, and to my surprise, he's actually smiling. "People believe what they want to believe," he ruffles my hair. "Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow. We should arrive in Ostagar, and that will be the true test."

Lovely, I can't wait.

* * *

"Your majesty, I wasn't expecting-"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to wonder if you would make it in time. I heard tell that you had a promising new recruit. I take it this is he?"

He actually thinks that I'm a **he**? Yes! I pulled it off! I glance up at the king, my heart fluttering in my chest. I had never met him before now, though Fergus had always told me that King Cailan was well known for his good looks. I can understand why. I open my mouth to reply when Duncan cuts me off. Right, the 'no talking' thing.

"Your majesty, allow me to introduce…Clarence," Clarence? Really? That's the best he could come up with? "You'll have to excuse him, sire. The boy was born without speech. Though he is very bright, and is an excellent fighter."

"He must be to have been able to impress you. Welcome then, Clarence. I look forward to shedding blood with you," the king smiles at me and I can feel the blood rushing to my head. Andraste's knickers, if this is how I get every time a good looking man gives me the time of day…I stiffen as Duncan explains what happened in Highever. I am midly surprised at how horrified the king is reacting to the news. He promises that justice will be served. He then excuses himself and departs to a meeting with Teyrn Loghain.

"That went over well," Duncan seems relieved. "At any rate, you are free to explore the camp. There is another Grey Warden by the name of Alistair that I would like you to find. In the meanwhile your dog can stay with me." I glance down at Scrags. I pet him on the head and he begins to playfully bark and wag his tail.

"Stay with Duncan, boy. I'll be back as soon as I can," I murmur softly. Scrags barks once and I know that he understands. I make my way across the bridge toward the camp. One of the guards greets me and I nod in his direction. I haven't walked far and I see a man flirting with a woman. She rebuffs him with a glare and he seems unworried. He certainly knows how to take things in stride. I must have caught his eye, because he waves at me and motions me over.

"Well, you're not what I expected," he says plainly.

My stomach drops. He's not fooled. I gather my wits and tilt my head, feigning confusion.

"I mean, I didn't expect a mute boy." I shrug my shoulders in response.

"Not that it really matters, just as long as you can hear the beasties coming after us. What do you make of all the mystery with this Joining ritual?" he asks.

I shrug my shoulders once again. I am the epitome of amazing conversation.

"Yeah, I don't like the sound of it either, makes my nose twitch. Well, now that you're here, I'd best go back to the Warden camp and see Duncan. By the way, one of the junior Wardens, Alistair, is waiting for you up those stairs. Blonde fellow in splint mail. You can't miss him." I smile at him to show my gratitude and I'm off in search of this Alistair guy. How many old men would I meet in one day?

I'm climbing the stairs when I hear two men arguing. One is wearing mages robes and the other is an extremely good looking blonde man in splint mail. Uh oh, blonde guy in splint mail. I swallow and feel my freckled cheeks begin to flush. This was going to be torture. The argument comes to an end and the mage brushes by me, calling me a fool.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is the way it brings everyone together," Alistair smiles at me. I can't help but quirk an eyebrow at his comment and the corners of my mouth are tugging upwards into a grin. Cute and a sense of humour. This was going to be HELL.

"You must be the new recruit Duncan was talking about. I'm Alistair. You must be," his brow furrows as he tries to recall my fraudulent name. "Clarence, wasn't it?" I nod. "Well, as the junior member of the order, I'll be taking you through the preparation for the Joining. If you have any questions…Oh, sorry. I forgot that you can't talk." He looks chagrined. I can tell that he's worried that he offended me. I smile at him reassuringly and pat him on the shoulder. "Right, off we go to see Duncan. Lead the way, good ser!"

Thank the Maker, he thinks I'm a boy too. As I jog off toward the Grey Warden camp I wonder if perhaps for the first time I want someone to think of me as a woman instead.

Fat lot of good that does me right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Dragon Age or any of its characters!

**A/N:** So I know how it'd be pretty hard to believe that people wouldn't notice Clarissa being a girl, especially if they were with her for any extended period of time (*Cough* Alistair *Cough*), but for the sake of this story (and for fun), we'll just have to suspend belief. This chapter sticks pretty closely to the game and is from Alistair's POV. The story itself will shift between Clarissa and Alistair mostly. I will also probably change the rating to M at some point.

* * *

**2. Alistair**

Arguing with mages is a dangerous activity, and I'm not in the habit of trying to make them angry. Being turned into a frog is not something I really want to happen. For one thing I hate flies, and I can't stand swamps. Life as a frog would be horrible. So why do I insist on riling up this one? The fact that he's a pompous git doesn't hurt.

"And here I thought we were getting on so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you…the **grumpy **one," I remark caustically.

"Never mind, I'll talk to the woman myself." He turns to leave and nearly bumps into a young man in splint mail. "Out of my way, fool," the mage snaps at the younger man. I am more than slightly amused when the boy flashes the mage an indecent hand gesture.

I approach the boy and make some offhanded remark about the Blight bringing everyone together. He cocks an eyebrow and smiles by way of reply. Not a big talker I take it. I nearly say so when a thought (yes I know, hard to believe, but I **do** use my brain from time to time) occurs to me. This must be the recruit that Duncan had sent word about. The mute boy; and boy was not an overstatement. He barely looked like he'd entered adulthood. His features still possessed the smooth fragility of youth. He had yet to acquire the gruff exterior that men developed when they were warriors. I'm not sure what Duncan was thinking recruiting a boy so young, but the kid obviously impressed him, otherwise he wouldn't be here. I took note of the closely cropped bright red hair, the wide cerulean eyes and the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. I introduce myself and to my horror, I can't remember this kid's name. It's a 'C' word, definitely a 'C' word. Carl? Cameron? Connor? Clarence! That's it!

"Well, as the junior member of the order, I'll be taking you through the preparation for the Joining. If you have any questions…Oh, sorry. I forgot that you can't talk." Idiot! Why did I just say that? Way to make a great first impression, Alistair. Clarence pats my shoulder and smiles reassuringly. Oh good, he's not upset by my comment. Note to self: if this bloke survives the Joining, give him my dessert rations by way of repayment. "Right, off we go to see Duncan. Lead the way, good ser!"

* * *

Okay, now _I'm _impressed. Does this kid ever know how to fight! So far he's taken down about a half dozen darkspawn and several wolves with relative ease! He even stops to help bandage up some poor wretch whose party had been attacked by a group of darkspawn. I never thought having smaller hands made for better first aid, but as I watch him deftly stitch up and dress the wounds of the scout I realize that his narrower fingers allow him to make smaller and tighter sutures. Huh. Go figure. Finally, after collecting our third and final vial of darkspawn blood I point out on our map where the Warden cache is located. I remember Duncan's instructions. _"Do not lead them by the nose, let them take the reins. It is the only way for them to learn. You will also discover who the natural leader of the group is." _To my surprise, Clarence is the one to silently lead the group in the proper direction. We arrive at the ruins and my heart sinks. The cache has obviously been broken into. Damn!

I nearly jump when I hear a sultry voice purring behind us.

"Well, well, what have we here? Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"

I look over my shoulder and see…the worst dressed woman I've ever laid eyes on. Does she realize how revealing that top is? I feel my ears begin to heat up.

"So which are you, scavenger or intruder?" the woman demands.

"Don't answer her, she looks Chasind." I warn, casting a glance in the direction of my charges.

"Oh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she says, her voice rich with sarcasm.

"Yes, swooping is bad," I reply.

"She's a witch of the wilds, she is!" Daveth exclaims.

"You there," she motions to Clarence. "Perhaps you are not as easily frightened as your friends. I shall tell you my name if you tell me yours."

"He can't answer you," I frown. "He can't talk." I glance over at Clarence, and his eyebrows are raised. He can't actually expect me to answer this woman? I sigh and turn my gaze back to the badly dressed heathen. "His name is Clarence."

"Truly? Hm. Interesting. I am Morrigan. I take it you are in search of something that is here no longer?" she questions.

"Here no longer? You're some kind of sneaky…witch-thief!" I accuse her.

"How very eloquent. Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?" I have the sudden urge to wipe that sneer off her face.

"Very easily it seems. The contents of that cache are Grey Warden property, and you'll turn over it over immediately!"

"I will not for 'twas not I who took them." This is maddening! I'm preparing to advance when I feel a tug at my arm. I look down and Clarence is holding my elbow. He shakes his head. I furrow my brow, unsure of what he's getting at. He turns his gaze to Morrigan and tilts his head to one side questioningly. His face lights up suddenly and he reaches into his pack. He extracts some blank vellum and an inked quill. I watch him scrawl a message onto the vellum and hand it to Morrigan.

"'Twas my mother in fact," she replies. More scrawling from Clarence and he hands this new message to the witch. "A sensible request, I like you."

"Be careful," I intone. "First it's 'I like you' then **zap**, frog time."

"Follow me," Morrigan orders, "if it pleases you."

We get the treaties, and Morrigan is thankfully silent on the return trip. I pray that I never have to see her wretched witch-face ever again. I'm very tense all of a sudden because I know what comes next: the Joining. As much as I didn't really care for Jory and Daveth, I've come to like Clarence. I have a great deal of respect for him, though I don't know much about him. There's something very sad in his eyes, like he's seen terrible things; a haunted look that is normally reserved for much older men. I have this irrational desire to protect him, which is completely ridiculous given the fact that he's so capable in combat. He's one of the most skilled dual weapon fighters I've seen; well, apart from Duncan of course. But still, I find myself charging ahead of him, bashing my shield into any incoming threats. I notice when we fight the smile that he sometimes offers me - a feral gleam to his eye that both chills and excites me. I hope that he survives the Joining. He would make an excellent Grey Warden, and…maybe even a good friend. I chew on my lower lip as Duncan explains the ritual to the three recruits. Jory is terrified, no surprise there. Daveth seems a bit worried at the prospect of dying, but otherwise is willing to go through with it. Clarence seems…impassive. I raise an eyebrow at this reaction. He seems utterly relaxed. I venture over to him, nudging him in the side with an elbow.

"Nervous?" I whisper. He shakes his head. "Really?" he glances up at me and makes a 'so-so' gesture with one hand. It's time for me to speak the words that are always spoken prior to the ritual.

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." I cast a fleeting glance at Clarence and catch him wiping a tear from his cheek. Not wanting to embarrass him, I look away. I hope now more than ever that he survives.

Duncan takes the Joining chalice into his hands and stands in front of the three recruits. "Daveth, step forward," he murmurs. The grizzled rogue steps forward and drinks from the chalice. As the cries of anguish tear from his throat I can tell almost immediately that he will not make it. He clutches his throat, his eyes completely white as the taint courses through him and destroys him. He falls to the ground. "I am sorry, Daveth." Duncan's voice is filled with regret. "Step forward Jory," he commands. To my horror Jory backs away.

"B-but I have a wife, a child!" he stammers and draws his sword. Idiot! What are you doing?! I know what's coming as Duncan informs him that there is no turning back. Duncan draws his blade and metal clashes against metal. It's over before it begins, Duncan is clearly the more skilled of the two. As Duncan's blade is buried in Jory's side he whispers "I am sorry." He withdraws the sword and Jory falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, blood pooling beneath him. "But it is not over yet," Duncan turns to Clarence, the only remaining recruit. I see the fear in his eyes, and for a moment I feel panicked that he will need to be put down as well. But he steps forward, bringing the chalice to his lips. My stomach is in knots. He takes a long sip and hands the cup back to Duncan. He grimaces and his eyes squeeze shut. He brings his hand up to his forehead and for a moment I'm completely sure that all three of them have failed. Suddenly his eyes fly open. As expected they are white and staring at an unknown point, seemingly seeing nothing, but I know the horror that is being observed - the raucous cries of the archdemon. He falls to the ground. Duncan nods at me and the relief that surges through me is a tad embarrassing to be quite honest.

We are hovering over Clarence when he finally comes to. He opens his mouth…to say something? This strikes me as a tad odd, considering he's mute and should know by now that any attempts at speaking will probably be met with disappointment. What is even stranger is the look of alarm Duncan gives him. Clarence's mouth snaps shut.

"It is finished. Welcome." Duncan smiles at Clarence. We help him to his feet. "Are you alright?" Duncan asks. Clarence nods. I ask him if he had any strange dreams. I want to put him at ease, I guess. I know that I was terrified in my Joining, and I wanted to relay the message that whatever he was feeling was completely normal. I've suddenly become Clarence's guardian apparently. I seriously hope he doesn't pick up on that, because that would be humiliating, him knowing how much of a soft touch I am. It would no doubt ruin my manly reputation.

Riiiight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the DA:O characters.

* * *

**3. Clarissa**

The Tower of Ishal. What a bloody nightmare.

We'd been told that the darkspawn wouldn't be a problem. Clearly that's not the case, especially given the headless genlock twitching at my feet. Something is not right, and I can tell from Alistair's expression that he's thinking the same. Scrags barks at my side and I rest a hand on his head, scratching his ears absently. A mage has joined our group of three, all but begging for our assistance as we storm the Tower. I look to Alistair. He's the senior ranking Warden here, so he's the one to call the shots. Though I'm starting to get the impression that he's not a big fan of leading. He's always quick to leap into battle, and the sharp blows of his shield are always welcome as far as I'm concerned. As much as I like to call myself a warrior, I know that I could never possess the kind of strength that Alistair displays when he bowls the darkspawn over with that humongous templar shield. Which is looking a tad worse for wear right now. I unconsciously run a finger over the shield of Highever strapped to my back. That and the family sword are the only things I have left of home. I silently thank Duncan for allowing me to bring them with me. It had taken some convincing, especially after his plan to hide my identity. I'm sure that carrying around a shield emblazoned with the Cousland family crest would be a sure indication of my parentage. But Duncan had found a very clever solution. It's amazing what a little mabari war paint can do.

"This doesn't make any sense," Alistair murmurs into my ear. "There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here." We've just made it to the second floor of the tower, and I quell the desire to make a sarcastic quip about letting the darkspawn know that they're in the wrong place. Instead I shrug a shoulder and lead the way. After encountering several locked chests I suddenly wish that I'd taken Fergus up on his offer to teach me how to pick locks. Instead I'll just have to make do with the contents held in the various wooden crates strewn about the tower. Each one yields something useful, and to my surprise I find a silver bracelet tucked into the corner of one box. I place it in my pack. After what seems like an endless barrage of genlocks and hurlocks we reach the top floor. Scrags is growling loudly, and I hear Alistair's sharp intake of breath. I can't say that I blame them, considering the rather large ogre that's about to rip us limb from limb. Unthinking, I rush headlong into battle. I unsheathe my dagger and sword, burying the former into the ogre's thickened skin. It lets out a monstrous snarl and charges at me, knocking me backward. The air bursts from my lungs as I'm struck down and it's all I can do to keep from crying out. Suddenly Alistair is in front of me, shielding me from further attack. He lashes out with his sword, slicing into the ogre's stomach. Scrags is snapping at the beast's legs, holding it in place as Alistair continues to rain down blows with both his sword and shield. I finally come to my senses and get to my feet, wincing from what is surely a cracked rib. I round to the ogre's side and strike out at it several times. I duck out of the way when a gnarled grey hand swings out at me. I hear Alistair bellow loudly and leap onto the creature's chest, burying his sword into its neck. He hacks away at it while it falls to the ground. With one final war cry he buries his sword into the ogre's face. His weapon pulls free as he leaps backward. The monster is dead. Alistair glances at me and I must look ridiculous, my eyes wide with wonder, but I can't help it. Sweat and blood trickle from his brow to his cheeks. He is breathing heavily. He is a vision.

"Quickly, light the fire! We've surely missed the signal!" he commands. I snap out of my stupor and nod, racing forward to do as he asks. A triumphant smile tugs at my lips as I turn to face him, only he looks horrified. Too late I notice the horde of darkspawn break through the doors. We barely have a chance to defend ourselves. Arrows are loosed and bury into my shoulder and chest. I don't feel any pain. I only feel a burning rage at not having fulfilled my promise to my parents. Then the darkness swallows me whole.

* * *

Son of a _bitch_. My head is pounding, my left side is killing me, and by the Maker I feel like I was just chewed up and spit back out again.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased." My head snaps up at the sound of the voice. It's the woman that we'd encountered earlier, the one who'd helped us get the treaties. I let out a short squeak when I realize that I'm as naked as the day I was born. Morrigan chuckles. "Do not worry, I already knew."

"You did?" I whisper softly, holding the sheets over my breasts.

"You can speak as well? I thought as much. But yes, I knew as soon as I laid eyes on you. I had been watching, if you recall. I had taken the form of a wolf, and as a wolf my senses are much sharper. Particularly my sense of smell," she grins knowingly. "And women smell much different than men."

"Oh," I reply weakly.

"In case you are wondering, the man that was to respond to your call quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Your friend…he is not taking it well," Morrigan explains. I sit upright at the mention of Alistair, my eyes wide with alarm. "Yes, he is alive. No he cannot hear us right now. You may speak freely. He does not know that you are a woman. Your secret is safe." She raises an eyebrow at me. "Why are you pretending to be a man?" I let out a sigh. I know that I owe her the truth, especially after all the help she's given.

"I am Clarissa Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever. My family was slaughtered just recently by a traitorous bastard who also happens to be the Arl of Amaranthine, Rendon Howe. I may be the only survivor. The Grey Warden that recruited me, Duncan, felt that it would be best to keep my identity hidden, at least until after the battle. He didn't want Howe's men to try anything in Ostagar. I guess it doesn't really matter know," I say softly. "Did the king survive? Did anyone survive?" I ask hopefully.

"They are all dead," Morrigan replies. "I suggest you continue with your…charade. Without the protection of your king, who knows what this Howe might do."

"Well, I have to at least tell Alistair," I insist. "He needs to know."

"Does he? Tell me, what do you think will happen if you tell him right now? He is sick with grief, and I have seen men do unspeakable things while in a fit of rage. There is also the possibility that he might reveal your identity to someone, whether on purpose or by accident. You need to look after your own well being."

I chew on the inside of my cheek. She makes a good point. Not only that, but what would happen if Alistair was questioned about me? The less he knows about me is probably the better, for his own safety. "Fine," I whisper softly.

"So glad that you see reason," Morrigan chortles. "Now, I will show you a trick if you would permit me." She motions for me to stand. I hesitate, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of this strange woman seeing me naked. "Now is not the time for modesty," she says exasperatedly. I sigh once again and stand. I watch as she removes several bandages from a nearby drawer. She steps close to me and begins to wind the bandages over my chest. She tugs at the bandages, making them taut. When she's finished she steps back and admires her handy work. My breasts are now completely covered with bandages, and they have been flattened down considerably. I slip into my small clothes and pull a tunic over my head. I glance down at my chest and the difference is remarkable. "There," Morrigan says proudly. "If you wish you can remove your armour at camp without fear of that dimwit seeing your breasts."

"Thank you," I say softly. "For everything."

"I…you are welcome. But Mother was the one that did most of the work, I am no healer." I'm slightly amused by her reaction. Was this snarky woman actually blushing at my gratitude? "Mother wishes to speak with you before you leave."

"I should go and see her then," I reply.

"I will stay and make something to eat."

* * *

Morrigan is traveling with us now. We're going to a small village by the name of Lothering. It was difficult to see Alistair grieving over the loss of Duncan. I know how difficult it is to lose someone. I wasn't able to offer much by way of consolation, but I did scrawl out a few ideas on a piece of parchment. Namely, I wrote out the idea of gathering our allies by using the treaties. That was when Flemeth had sprung the idea of Morrigan joining us. We couldn't exactly refuse, so here we were, traveling with an illegal mage. She trailed behind us for the most part, so I decide to take advantage of her absence and pull Alistair aside. I don't like having to write everything down but I have little choice. We sit next to a large ash tree.

_Do you want to talk about Duncan? _I scrawl out. He sighs and looks down.

"You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as well as I did," he says softly.

_He was like a father to you. I understand._

"But still, I shouldn't have lost it back there. He always said that we could die in battle. I'm sorry for falling apart." He seems to be ashamed by his reaction, and before I know what I'm doing, my arms are wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace. He stiffens at the touch, then relaxes and loops his arms around my waist. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. We stay that way for a while, silently holding each other.

I think the Maker has a sick sense of humour.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters. A/N is at the end.

* * *

**4. A New Friend**

She is beautiful. As soon as she walks into Dane's I know that she is someone special. My conclusions are further justified when the brutish men that had entered the bar not long before her confront her. They call her a Grey Warden. My heart races. It's as though the Maker brought her to me. I listen to the heated conversation between the beautiful Grey Warden and her companions.

"Well, look what we have here. Hey, didn't we ask some of the villagers if they'd seen a mute man walking around that fit this very description?" asks one of the brutes. Strange, they call this girl a man - and a mute one at that. I'm sure that she's a woman…

"Looks like we were lied to," replies another brute. I can tell that a fight will ensue, so I decide to intervene.

"Gentlemen please, surely we can resolve this without violence," I smile sweetly.

"Stay out of this, Sister. Or else you'll wind up just as dead as the Grey Wardens here," spits out the lead brute. I glance over at the red haired Warden, and she meets my gaze. My breath catches in my throat as she sizes me up. Her eyes are the colour of the deep seas surrounding Val Royeaux. She licks her full lips and shakes her head at me, clearly not wanting me to get involved. I'm touched by her concern. Little does she know, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. The brutes are unsheathing their blades and chaos ensues.

It's not long before the brutes admit defeat.

"Alright, alright that's enough!" shouts the lead brute.

"Good, now we can stop all this fighting," I reply. The female warden hesitates before motioning for the idiots to leave.

For all of my time as a bard, I'm not exactly sure how I should convince this woman that I need to join her cause. I also need to remember that she's obviously travelling incognito, seeing as the brutes thought she was a mute man. "You showed those men mercy when you didn't need to, my lord." I feel more than a bit strange calling a woman my lord. "It will be a pleasure to travel with you, of that I am certain." She cocks an amused eyebrow at me. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Leliana."

"Right, pleased to meet you Sister," replies the tall blonde man in splint mail. "I'm Alistair, and this here is Clarence," he motions to the Warden.

"I think you are forgetting someone," pipes up a rather angry looking female mage from behind them.

"Of course, how silly of me!" Alistair slaps his forehead. "This handsome fellow here is Scrags, Clarence's dog." The dog barks happily. I have to stifle a giggle at the glare that the mage is shooting Alistair. The Warden elbows Alistair. "Yes, yes, and the evil witch in back is Morrigan," he grumbles reluctantly.

"A pleasure to meet you," I say politely. "Where are we off to?"

"Funny," remarks Alistair. "I don't actually remember mentioning that you would be coming with us."

"I have to," I say. "The Maker told me so Himself." I cringe inwardly because I know how crazy it sounds. I shoot a furtive glance at the Warden, expecting the usual disbelief. Instead she is gazing at me with open curiosity. "I know how that sounds," I continue. "I had a vision. The Maker came to me and told me that I needed to help defeat the Blight." The Warden turns to Alistair. He seems to know exactly what she wants as he already has a quill and some parchment in his hand. She takes it from him and writes out a single sentence.

_I'm afraid we need more than simple prayer._

"I can do more than pray," I say to her. "I can fight. I know how to pick locks, and I have a very in depth knowledge of poisons." I can tell this surprises her, given the fact that I'm in Chantry robes. She looks up at Alistair. He shrugs his shoulders. My stomach does a flip when she reaches out with one hand and I grasp it. She isn't wearing gloves and her skin is dry and warm. A chill passes through me despite her warmth and it's like Marjolaine all over again, only with this woman…I'm not afraid.

"Perhaps you cracked your skull worse than Mother thought," Morrigan murmurs under her breath. The witch pins me with a withering glare. It doesn't bother me. I'm too curious about this Grey Warden. I want to know her story.

* * *

"So let me get this straight, you were a cloistered Sister?" Alistair asks, his voice disbelieving.

"You must have been a Brother before you took your vows as a templar," I smile at him.

"I never actually took vows," he replies. "I was conscripted into the Wardens before I ever walked down that plank." We chatter for a time, he doesn't really catch on that I never reveal anything more than small details about my life. He's quite content to talk about his life as a Grey Warden. The lady Warden glances over her shoulder at him from time to time. I am mildly jealous because it's clear that she has feelings for the ex-templar. A slow grin tugs at my lips at her predicament. He thinks that she is male, she lusts after him in silence. This would make for an interesting song…

We decide to set up camp just outside of the village. I seize the opportunity.

"Milord," I tug gently on the Warden's sleeve. "I wish to speak with you privately." She tilts her head to one side inquisitively, motioning for me to lead the way. I loop my arm into hers and pull her away from camp to a more secluded area. A cast a glance over my shoulder. Alistair and Morrigan are busy bickering over dinner. I let out a sigh of relief. When I know we're out of earshot and out of sight I come to a halt.

"I am…unsure of how to ask this of you…" I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "In Orlais, it was not common custom for women to have names like Clarence," I grin at her mischievously. Her mouth hangs open at my statement. Her reaction is quite comical.

"I told Duncan this would never work," she grumbles, her arms folding over her chest. "So far I've only succeeded in fooling men." I laugh softly.

"That doesn't say much for the other half of our species," I quip. "Nevertheless, based on what you have just told me, I can only conclude that the apostate knows of your identity, yes?"

"Yes," she remarks dryly.

"Might I know your name?" I ask.

"No," she says softly. I nod. I can't say that I blame her, we are strangers after all.

"Did you think of the name Clarence?"

"Maker, no!" she says with some disgust. I let out a peal of laughter.

"Well then, if it was a man that named you, I can only guess that he chose Clarence because your real name starts with the letter C." She doesn't argue with me, she only meets my gaze, a playful glint in her eyes. "I will have to guess then," I tease. "In the meantime, I shall refer to you as 'My Warden'. I refuse to call you something as silly as Clarence." She chuckles softly and I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close. I was going to have fun with this beautiful creature.

"Carol? Christine? Candice? Camber?"

* * *

**A/N: **Uh oh, is a certain Orlesian bard vying for the Warden's attention? Will Clarissa be distracted by this red headed temptress? Are we watching an episode of Batman from the '60's?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **DA:O - I don't own it, or its characters. *Sob*

* * *

**5. The Wardens**

I have to tell him. What choice do I have? I know he'll be angry but…I can't keep this a secret for much longer. With Cailan and Duncan dead, and Loghain telling everyone that we're traitors…

He needs to know the truth.

I'm sitting by the fire, and it's my turn to keep watch. I spare a glance at our travelling companions. Morrigan, the bitchy apostate. Leliana, the crazy Chantry sister. I know that there's more to her than what meets the eye. She's definitely hiding something. I'm not sure I want to know what that something might be, and frankly I'm not sure that I really care. Sten, the Qunari we found locked in a cage. The Revered Mother had left him to be devoured by darkspawn. My fellow Warden hadn't taken too kindly to that. It wasn't long before Sten was a part of our little group, sworn to defend Ferelden and the rest of Thedas against the Blight. The two dwarves that we rescued on the bridge to the Bannorn. Travelling merchants – or so they say. The younger dwarf seems to be gifted with enchantments, so I'm not about to turn away their help.

He's thrashing in his sleep. I know what haunts his dreams. I resist the urge to wander over and wake him. If I do, I'm liable to throw him into a state of shock. No, it's best if he wakes on his own. At least, that's what Duncan had always told us. Clarence jerks upright, his eyes wide with horror.

"Father!" he whispers. Whoa. Wait, did he just say something? I continue to stare at him, and I don't think he realizes in his sleepy stupor that he's just said something. Maybe he doesn't even know that he can talk? Is that even possible? I spin different scenarios round my head, falling upon one that makes the most sense.

He's severely traumatized, and has withdrawn to the point of not speaking. In the short time I've been a Grey Warden, I know that people witness horrors that plague them for the rest of their lives. My heart lurches in my chest as I wonder what this young man could have gone through that would strip him of his ability to speak. I won't force the issue. If one day he feels he can trust me enough to speak with me, so be it. Until then I will leave him be. Besides, it's not so bad, watching him scrawl little notes out on parchment. I wonder what he'd say..or write, or however he decides to communicate…if he knew that I've been keeping all the little notes that he's scribed. I guess I just wanted to keep them as a memento of our journey. A way of remembering what we did on our travels. He's like a brother to me now, and he's the first person that actually cares about what I have to say. Granted, that could be because I talk more than enough for the both of us, but I can tell from his facial expressions that he's really listening. Not just waiting for his turn to offer an opinion.

"Bad dreams, huh?" I ask once he's fully awake. He nods by way of response. Looks like he's not ready to talk. "Most of us have nightmares," I explain. "It's the archdemon. It...talks to the horde. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can actually understand what it's saying, but I sure can't." Silence. "Apparently you can learn to block out the nightmares. They come back eventually. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come." Inquisitive head tilt. Is it sad that I'm starting to understand all of his little unspoken gestures? "Oh that's right, we didn't get around to telling you that part. The taint, it's a death sentence. It slowly kills us. We have about twenty-five or thirty years before we start to change. Instead of letting it take over us completely, usually we'll go into the Deep Roads of Orzammar for one last glorious battle against the darkspawn. Before he died…Duncan told me that he'd started having the dreams again…"

He's sitting right next to me. How did I not hear him approach? He wraps a slender arm around my shoulders. This isn't right, I'm the one who's supposed to be comforting him. It's all backwards, but blast it, he always manages to get me to talk. "Right, now that you're awake, we can pull up camp," I say with mock cheer. His eyes widen suddenly and he jumps up. He rushes over to his side of the camp and starts to rummage through his pack. What's he up to? I'm about to ask when he presses a small carved statuette into my hands. He's smiling widely.

"What's this?" I ask. I turn the statuette over in my hands, my fingers gliding over the smooth surface. It has several engravings etched upon it. It's really quite lovely. "This is really neat," I say, embarrassed by the wonder that's found its way into my voice. I make to hand it back to him, but he holds his hands up. "It's for me?" I ask. He nods, a light blush colouring his cheeks. "I could get used to this," I give him a lopsided grin. He rolls his eyes at me playfully before heading off toward Morrigan's section of camp. What he sees in that woman is beyond me. I've always preferred women that were compassionate and kind. Granted I understand his attraction to her in terms of her being able to take care of herself. I like strong women too. Nothing worse than the damsel in distress, uselessly looking for some man to save them. But Morrigan was far too bitchy for my tastes.

Why do I even care? I'm here to defeat a Blight, not think about women! I shake myself and come to a conclusion. I'll tell Clarence about my father once we reach Redcliffe. Until then, he can be as blissfully unaware as everyone else. And that's what the Chantry always told us, right?

Ignorance is bliss.

* * *

I have to tell him. What choice do I have? I know he'll be angry but…I can't keep this a secret for much longer. With Cailan and Duncan dead, and Loghain telling everyone that we're traitors…

He needs to know the truth.

I've just woken up from a nightmare, only it wasn't about the archdemon. Alistair was explaining all about the nightmares that Grey Wardens have, and about the taint being a death sentence. But Maker forgive me, I just don't care. I know I should be horrified that I'm going to die much sooner than most…but all I can think about is slitting Howe's throat. That was what my dream had been about. My father was writhing in agony at my feet, pleading for me to end his suffering. There's suddenly a dagger in my hand, and he's begging me to end it, but I can't, he's my father, I'm his Pup. "Clarissa please!" he moans. "Make it stop! Save me!" And suddenly Howe is at my side and he's holding another dagger, his wormlike lips curled into a sneer. He slashes out with his dagger and everything is crimson. The blood pours out of my father like a waterfall. I'm screaming for it to stop. I want to stop Howe, want to jump on him and tear out his throat with my teeth because it's so much more personal than cold steel and none of this makes sense because dreams never make sense, not really. Father is bleeding and Howe is laughing and I'm so filled with wrath but my impotence is obvious to all as I'm rooted in place. Rooted? Yes rooted, vines have sprouted out of the earth, holding my feet…

I'm awake. Alistair is staring at me. He tells me about the nightmares. I listen intently. I may not care but I still listen. He deserves that much. I can tell he's about to descend into the Dark Place. The place I just woke from. The Dead Place. I crawl over to him and offer what little comfort I can. We are bound by duty, and I'll be damned if I can't ease some of his suffering. It's then that I remember the statuette. He seems to like it. I know that he has an affinity for the arcane.

Before we pull up camp and head for Redcliffe I wander off to tell Morrigan that Leliana knows my Little Secret.

Leliana. She's certainly beautiful. She possesses a kind of mystique that I've always admired in Orlesian women. Her accent is adorable as well. My cheeks colour at the thought of gentle words tumbling from those full, pouting lips. Maker's breath, we've been on the road too long!

* * *

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asks as we approach the village. I nod. "Well, remember me telling you that I was raised by Arl Eamon, and that my mother was a serving girl at the castle?" Another nod. "Well, the thing is…My father was…King Maric."

Blink.

"I would have told you, but it never really meant anything to me. The truth is anyone that's ever known has either resented me for it, or coddled me," he goes on. "I hope you're not angry…" his gaze drops. What am I supposed to do? I'm a little angry, yes. I think I'm more surprised than anything. I need some time to process this new turn of events. In the meantime I offer a supportive smile and a pat on his shoulder. "Oh good," he says, his voice thick with relief. "Now you can just go on pretending I'm some nobody that was lucky enough not to die back at the tower."

That's not what he really thinks, is it? Before I get a chance to write anything, or hug him or offer some shabby form of comfort, he's off.

* * *

Thank the Maker for small favours. I recognize Teagan, but he doesn't recognize me. He remembers Alistair, and the two discuss Eamon's failing health and the recent attacks on the village by Weird Undead Creature Things. Of course we'll help. Alistair was right about needing the Arl's help at the Landsmeet, and honestly I can't just sit around and let the villagers be attacked by Weird Undead Creature Things.

After helping Murdock get armour for the militia, and then paying Dwyn a bunch of money to actually help, (stupid sodding dwarf, taking all of that silver just to get off his lazy fat ass and fight…) we head over to see Ser Perth. I listen as he explains the knights' need for holy protection, and Alistair tells him about the oil drums in the general store. We manage to get the knights their holy protection, (stupid knights) and there's nothing left to do but wait for nightfall.

The Weird Undead Creature Things smell horrible. Especially when they're on fire. Naturally we manage to slaughter them all without any casualties. When the sun rises, Teagan reveals that there's a secret passage into the castle. A plan begins to formulate in my head. We're interrupted by the arrival of Isolde. Hm. So this is the bitch that was mean to Alistair? She's ranting and raving, screaming that she'd made a promise to return to the castle with Teagan. He decides to go with her, and I'm not exactly pleased. My darkened expression must reveal such, because Teagan tells me that he has no other choice. He gives me his signet ring and directs me to the passage within the windmill.

The passage leads us into the dungeon where we find the mage that tried to poison the Arl. I don't kill him because he's obviously an idiot and actually thought he was helping by trying to poison the Arl. From what my father has told me about Loghain, I know how manipulative he can be. Besides, the mage might prove useful later. We kill a whole bunch of the Weird Undead Creature Things (WUCTs for short) and eventually find Valena, the smith's daughter. She's frightened, but otherwise unharmed. Alistair directs her out of the castle and we're off to fight more WUCTs. Eventually we find our way to the main hall, and lo and behold, we find Isolde, Teagan, a bunch of guards and a little boy who I can only assume is Eamon's son Conor. The kid's a lunatic and it doesn't take long to figure out that he's possessed.

What luck! To make matters worse, Teagan is under the influence of…something, and Isolde is a big useless waste of skin (not that I'm bitter about her or anything). I'm trying to calm the possessed demon boy down by way of placating smiles. He doesn't seem to buy it because he orders the guards and Teagan to attack us. That certainly doesn't last long. I'm growing increasingly proud of myself for not screaming at people. They of course think my silence is entirely out of my control. If they only knew. Isolde finally has a bright idea and suggests that we enlist in the mage's help. Teagan heads to the dungeon, returning a few minutes later with the idiot mage in tow.

Isolde and Jowan, the mage, bicker for a bit. He seems apologetic and offers a suggestion. We can travel into the Fade and get Conor back. With trusty quill and parchment in hand I scrawl out a single note.

_What's the catch?_

"It involves blood magic," he replies. I hear Alistair's sharp intake of breath. I guess blood magic is bad. "I would need someone's blood, a lot of it. In fact, it would most certainly kill the person."

"Then let it be my blood," Isolde offers. "I will gladly sacrifice my own life for that of my son's." I don't like this idea. I can tell Alistair hates the suggestion. I chew on my lower lip. I turn to Alistair, note in hand.

_There must be another way of entering the Fade?_

"Well, if we had more mages, and enough lyrium…" he mumbles. I snap my fingers and reach into my pack, extracting one of the treaties.

"That is a very good point," Alistair replies. "The Circle Tower is about a day's trip from here."

"But what about Conor?" Isolde asks. "We cannot keep him passive for much longer!" As much as I hate the woman, I walk up to her and place a hand on her shoulder. I squeeze gently. She nods.

Our small group gathers and we are leaving the castle. I'm covered with corpse blood, rotting flesh and dog hair. I smell horrible. As soon as we get back to camp I'm going for a swim in the lake. I'm in desperate need of a bath.

Stupid WUCTs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **I know I've been updating like mad, but I can't help it! The chapters are literally pouring out of me! I'm sure it'll slow down at some point. *Shifty eyes*

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**6. Clarissa & Alistair**

"I don't understand, you look like a woman,"

Aw, hell. Not this again.

The rather large Qunari warrior is glaring down at me, his violet eyes searching my own. He is both curious and angry.

"Sten, he is not a woman. He is simply young," Leliana chides. My eyes dart over to her as she approaches. Her arms are folded over her chest. She is wearing the leather armour I had bought her in Redcliffe.

"I did not say that he _is _a woman, merely that he _looks_ like one," Sten mutters dryly. "Warriors are meant to be strong. I was questioning his ability to wield a weapon."

Great, a Qunari is challenging me to a duel. Can my day get any worse?

"He is weary. Let him bathe and get some sleep," Leliana says. "There is plenty of time to question his authority tomorrow."

"…Very well." He returns to whatever it was that he was doing before my arrival. I give Leliana a grateful smile. I hazard a glance in Alistair's direction. He's busying himself with his armour, so I decide that a bath is an excellent idea.

I gather the soaps that I'd purchased in Lothering and head to the lake near our camp. As I strip off my armour and tunic I hesitate momentarily. If anyone were to happen upon me, they'd certainly see me for the woman that I am. I shrug the worry off, remembering that Leliana is at camp and will surely keep Alistair occupied. I unravel the bandages from my chest, breathing a sigh of relief. Having one's breasts squished all day is not exactly the most comfortable thing in the world. With soap in hand I wander into the chilly water. I've never been one to tentatively wade into lakes. I'm of the opinion that diving in full force allows you to adapt to the temperature much faster. The large splash I make is mildly satisfying. As I resurface I hear laughter.

I freeze. I look over my shoulder.

"I saw you heading for the lake, and I decided to join you,"

"Maker's breath, Leliana. You scared the shit out of me!" I exclaim. She giggles and starts to wade into the water. She'd already removed her armour, and I'm slightly embarrassed by her nudity. I clear my throat self-consciously. She pauses when she reaches me. We're both waist deep in the water. She obviously sees how rosy my cheeks have become.

"Are you shy?" She asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Of course not!" I say without much conviction. She lets out another peal of laughter.

"Turn around, silly. I'll wash your hair." I do as she says, leaning down and dipping my head into the water. I stay in my hunched position, the water is at my neck. Leliana hums as she massages the soap into my scalp. I close my eyes, basking in the wonderful sensations that her fingers elicit. "I lied to you, you know. About why I left Orlais."

"Why?"

"I didn't feel like talking about it then. What happened to me. Maybe it'll affect us, maybe not, but… You should know. I came to Ferelden and the Chantry because I was being hunted in Orlais," she went on.

"Hunted? What for?" I ask.

"I was framed. Betrayed. By someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine. She was my mentor and friend… She taught me the bardic arts. How to enchant with words and song. How to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in as a servant, the skills I learned I used to serve her. My bardmaster… and because I loved her."

"You loved her?" my voice has grown very soft.

"Yes." Leliana replied.

"So you were a bard before coming to Ferelden?" I'm slightly confused by this turn of events.

"Yes. I had been assigned to kill a man. He had documents on his body, sealed documents," she continues to spread the soap through my hair.

"Important documents?" I venture.

"It turns out that they were. Marjolaine had been selling information to other countries about Orlais."

"But isn't that what bards do?"

"Some. I was more concerned for her life." Leliana explains.

"Did you give the documents to anyone?" I can see where this is going.

"To Marjolaine, and no one else. She brushed aside my concern, she admitted her guilt but said it was in the past. That is why the documents had to be destroyed she said. I believed her. I kept believing up until the moment they showed me the documents… altered by her hand, to make me look the traitor."

"Who's they?"

"The Orlesian guards. They captured me. Did unspeakable things to me to get me to confess," she says sadly.

"You were able to escape though?" My thoughts are racing. Things are starting to make sense. No wonder she fought so well…

"The skills Marjolaine had taught me served me well." I feel her hands leave my hair and I know it's my cue to rinse the soap out. Once my hair is thoroughly rinsed I turn to face her and stand.

"Thank you for trusting me with this. I won't let anything bad happen to you while you're with me," I promise. She smiles and leans forward. I'm caught by surprise when her lips press against mine. I feel her hands circle my waist, one resting at the small of my back, the other gliding up my spine, coming to a stop at the back of my neck. I moan softly against her mouth, my tongue darting out to brush against hers. She turns me gently, my back now pressed to her chest. She trails kisses down the crook of my neck as one hand cups and massages my left breast. I let out a mewl of pleasure.

"Perhaps we should continue this another time," she whispers huskily into my ear. "Surely the others are wondering what happened to us."

"You're nothing but a tease," I groan in mock anger. She giggles and splashes me. We wade out of the lake and dress ourselves.

This is certainly an interesting development…

* * *

I quite enjoy cleaning my armour. I find it comforting, especially after such a long, arduous battle. I'm extremely happy that Clarence decided against that whole blood magic idea. The fact that he remembered the treaties at such a tense moment really said a lot about his leadership skills. I dip the rag I'd been using into the water bucket at my side and wipe the remaining blood from my heavy armour. There, all clean. I would clean Clarence's armour, but he took off for the lake to take a bath. Not that I blame him. My gaze does settle on his shield, however. I still don't know why he bothers to heft the bloody thing around. It's not like he uses it. And to be honest it was…well…filthy.

I wander over to the shield and heft it into my arms. I can tell that it's of extremely good make. I bring it back to my seat and begin rubbing away at the blood stains with my rag. They're a pain in the ass to get off…what did he put on this, mabari war paint? It takes me a while, but eventually it's shining as good as new, but…

Is that the Cousland family crest? Why would Clarence have a Cousland family shield?

I decide the best way to find out is to ask him directly.

I wander over to the lake where he's bathing. I'm about to call out to him when I realize that he's not alone. As quietly as possible I dart behind a tree, only to peek out from behind it. I'm quite a piece from the lake, but still close enough that I can tell Leliana is washing Clarence's hair. And she's nude. My face turns bright red. Don't look, Alistair, it's bad to look at naked Orlesian girls. The Chantry Sisters will find you and gut you like a fish. Oh who am I kidding? I'm a bad, bad man, and I want to see what's going on.

He's hunched down in front of her, and she's telling him something. I'm too far away to hear anything but I see his lips move and a pang of jealousy rips through me. He can talk to her, but he isn't comfortable enough to talk to me? Clarence dips his head into the water and when he resurfaces he's facing Leliana. He stands, and I notice (not for the first time) just how slight his build is. I find this rather odd, even for someone that's probably only seen eighteen summers.

Leliana kisses him. She turns him around and-

**ANDRASTE'S FLAMING SWORD!**

Clarence - Clarence is a woman! My eyes widen at this sudden shock. I watch as Leliana cups his---her---breast. The water beads on her skin in the pale moonlight. My mouth has gone dry. My eyes trail down her body, from her shoulders to her collarbone, to her full breasts, to her soft, round hips. The water stops my view from moving any further. I feel a stirring in my loins. Oh, hell. Clarence is awakening my lust. I never thought I'd be telling myself _that_.

"Why are you skulking about?" a voice hisses into my ear. I jump and am about to cry out when a hand covers my mouth. It's Morrigan. She looks pissed. "Go back to camp," she whispers. "I will explain things to you there."

Explain what? What in the name of the Maker is going on? I nod at her dumbly and head back to camp, tail between my legs.

When we get there, Morrigan leads me to her tent. She doesn't invite me inside. Not that I'd go in there if she did. She folds her arms over her chest.

"Her name is Clarissa. Your Duncan brought her on as a Grey Warden after her family was slaughtered in Highever." Morrigan explains.

Clarissa…why did that name sound familiar?

_"Alistair, with the coming battle I have decided to travel to the Cousland family estate. Teyrn Cousland's daughter seems like a promising recruit and I am hoping that he will permit me to bring her back to Ostagar." _

_"I would love to see you try to conscript a teyrn's daughter, Duncan."_

But Duncan had returned with Clarence. He told us that the Cousland's had all been killed by Rendon Howe…But if Clarence is really a woman…

"Holy Maker," I whisper. "She's Clarissa Cousland." It all made sense! Duncan must have had her hide her identity so that Arl Howe wouldn't know that she'd survived! It was really quite ingenious, though he wouldn't expect anything less of Duncan. And the fact that she'd managed to pull it off for so long…but why did Morrigan know?

"I knew from the beginning, you simpering idiot," she said scathingly. Apparently the bitch-witch can read minds as well. "I also saw her in a state of undress when we rescued the two of you from the tower. I cannot dress someone's wounds while they are fully clothed. She told me her story when she woke up. I convinced her to continue her charade and to not tell you."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because you are a dimwit and would probably run your mouth off at the first person you saw," she snapped. "Though I believe the only reason she agreed was out of concern for your well-being."

"Why should she be concerned about my well-being?" This is getting weirder by the minute.

"Tell me, what do you think would happen were you to be kidnapped by Howe's men? If you knew anything, they would likely torture you for information. No matter how loyal you are, there are powerful mages that can read you like a book." She was probably right about that.

"So what should I do?" Why am I asking this woman for guidance? _Because as much as you hate her, she's smart, _a small voice in my head says. Shut up, voice!

"Do not tell her that you know," Morrigan says simply.

"What?! Why not?" I ask incredulously.

"If she knows that you know, she will only worry about you. It will be an unnecessary distraction. Let her tell you when she is ready, preferably when all of this is over."

"Alright…" I sigh. Morrigan shoots a look at me.

"She is still the same person you have come to admire. The only difference is, now you know that she is a woman. Do not let this deter you or think ill of her. She was in an impossible situation and did the best that she could," she mutters.

"Why are you being so nice about her?" I ask. My suspicions are suddenly perking up.

"I have my reasons," she replies. "Now leave me be." She returns to the confines of her tent. I hear Leliana's laughter over my shoulder and I turn. She and Clarence--erm, Clarissa have returned from the lake. I feel some anger toward Clarissa for having lied to me, but can I really blame her? She had just lost her entire family, only to be whisked away to the Grey Wardens. And then the battle…Oh this hardly seems real. My anger practically drains from me when Clarissa smiles at me, and I wonder how I could have been so stupid as to think she was a man. Her features practically scream 'woman'.

I have to stop thinking of her as a woman, or else I'm in deep trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **To be safe, I'm switching the rating to M.

* * *

**7. Family**

Warden business, we say. We will return shortly.

I pack up some health poultices, injury kits, blankets…We should be good to go.

The sky is dusted with stars when we leave, and my lips are still burning from Leliana's kiss. I don't like the idea of travelling at night, but there's little we can do about it. We need to move quickly. As Alistair is the only one travelling with me, I feel that he should be well-protected. We've travelled a couple of miles and I hand him my shield.

"I--I can't take that," he stammers. I shrug my shoulders to indicate that I don't have a problem with it. "But-" I force it into his hands and spin on my heel. The discussion is closed. We walk in silence for a time, listening to the insects chirping in the trees. The path we travel is heavily wooded, and I curse the lack of clearings (in my head of course). We will need to set up camp shortly. Another two hours of plodding on and we're both exhausted. We arrive at an area that is mildly un-tree infested and I motion for Alistair to stop. "Time to set up camp?" he asks. I nod and we set to work.

Wait. What's going on here?

"I know what you're thinking. 'Alistair, you ninny, why did you only pack one tent?' Well, I was planning on bringing two, but then I thought that we probably wouldn't have much room, and it's just us strapping men, right? So I figured I could save space and the extra weight of a tent," he explains.

I'm not entirely comfortable with this situation. Not in the least.

"I promise, I won't cuddle too much," he jokes. I'd been sipping at my water skin as he said that. Needless to say I almost choked. And he's smiling at me, that cock-sure smile that he gets when he's up to no good, and suddenly it hits me. Alistair prefers the company of men. And here I am--with him--alone in the forest--at night--and most definitely not a man. But he doesn't know that.

Double damn.

I start our campfire. Stay busy. Stoke the fire, put on the stew. Stay busy. Thank the Maker I haven't taken off my armour. Stir the pot, add some herbs that Morrigan found. Stay busy, stay busy, look occupied. A pair of hands grab hold of my hips from behind.

"Sit, I want to talk to you about something," Alistair says. Oh dear. Is this where he tells me that he's never felt this way for a man before? Oh Maker, I'm in for it. I am _so _dead. He shoves the quill and parchment into my lap once I've found a spot next to him. He obviously wants me to participate in this conversation. "I know this probably isn't the best time to bring this up…" Shit shit shit shit shit. "But there's someone I was hoping we could look up, if we ever go to Denerim." Oh sweet blood of Andraste, thank you! I smile widely.

_You have a friend outside of the Grey Wardens?_

"I suppose you could say that, and before you go jumping to conclusions, it's not _that _kind of friend either," Is it wrong that I'm relieved about it not being _that_ kind of friend? "Remember how I said that my mother died giving birth to me? Well, I did some checking and found out that she had a daughter. Which I suppose would make her my half sister."

_That's wonderful news!_

"You know, I thought so too. Her name is Goldanna, and she lives near the elven alienage in Denerim. Do you think we could look her up if we're in town? I just thought…well with the Blight and everything, I know I could never forgive myself if I didn't at least try to see her, maybe even warn her about it," his eyes are full of excitement at the prospect of this family reunion. Who am I to rain on his parade?

_We could certainly try._

"Could we? That would mean a lot to me. Thank you," he smiles warmly. "Do you have any family? We never really talked about it before…"

I freeze. My jaw clenches. It's the reaction I usually have when thinking of my family. I want to tell him. Not write it, but _tell _him damn it. Morrigan's warnings spring to mind. Alistair's openness and honesty about his past also play a part in this mini war I've waged in my head. Perhaps a compromise? I sigh audibly and begin to write.

* * *

She'd been staring at the fire, eyes aglow as she poked the kindling around with a stick. She's a terrible cook, worse than I am. Her brow furrows as she attempts to make a half decent meal. She looks beautiful in the moonlight. I've lusted after women before, but this is different. Maybe it was because I'd come to know her as a friend before I saw her as…well, as a woman. I wanted so badly for her to open up to me, to show me that I had earned her trust in some small way. When I ask her about her family, I don't actually expect her to answer. Looks like I was wrong, yet again. She writes for quite some time, and her expression never changes. I wonder idly if it's just some long note telling me to sod off and mind my own business. She doesn't even look at me when she hands the parchment over.

_A mother, a father, an older brother. My brother married and had a son, the most adorable boy I've ever met. We all lived together. My brother left to join the army and that same night I woke up to Scrags barking. Intruders…They broke into the house. When they came into my room, I was with a…friend. An elven girl. They killed her. I killed them. My mother found me, and we went to look for my brother's wife and my nephew. We found them both dead, throats slit. We searched for my father. When we found him, he'd already been fatally wounded. There were more intruders. That's when Duncan came. My parents told me to leave…to save myself…I watched them die. _

_Connor reminded me of Oren. I could have never hurt him._

_I am stained._

It isn't until I'm finished reading that I realize that I'd been holding my breath. When I look up, she's retreated to the tent. I extinguish the fire and wander in after her. I leave the flaps open, and the moonlight offers at least a bit of illumination. She's facedown in her bedroll. She has stripped off her armour and she's wearing the tunic and pants that she usually wears to sleep. Only she's not sleeping. I see her shoulders rise and fall at a staggering pace and recognize the action for what it is. She's crying. I lie on my side next to her, sliding an arm over her shoulder and whisper useless platitudes into her ear in a soothing voice. I rub her back. I feel the bandages that she uses to flatten her chest but I make no mention of it. When I draw her closer I feel her body tense, only to slowly relax against my chest. I tell myself I'm only offering comfort to a friend, and that we need to stay close anyway to keep warm during the night.

I'm such a liar.

Eventually her breathing becomes steady. She's fallen asleep. It's not long before I join her in the Fade.

I wake up the next morning and her leg is draped over my waist. Great. She mewls softly in her sleep and nuzzles into my chest. Perfect. Deep breaths, Alistair. Sten in a pink frilly dress. Morrigan screaming. Clarissa's leg shifts the slightest bit, rubbing against my groin. It's not long before I'm as hard as a rock. She of course picks that time to wake up, her thigh resting right atop my arousal. And me, being the complete idiot that I am, am looking right at her. I hope that maybe she doesn't notice my lustful state.

Fat chance. The dawning realization causes her eyes to widen, and she's pulling away faster than someone who's put their hand in flames.

Wonderful. At this rate she probably thinks I prefer the company of men.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **Warning - Smut ahead. Fem/Fem action.

* * *

**8. Clarissa**

This is ridiculous. We've been in this bloody tower for ages. If I'd known that it was overrun with abominations, I would have suggested that Leliana and Morrigan come with us. Luckily we ran into Wynne, a mage that I'd met in Ostagar. Maker only knows how she survived. And wouldn't you know it, not only are there a ton of demons and abominations, there are more WUCTs. Ugh. On the bright side, we meet some crazy blood mages.

One room in the tower reveals a Sloth demon. Of course he would make us all fall asleep and send us into the Fade. And of course the Fade would prove to be a big pain in the arse. When I meet some mage named Niall, he tells me that there are several areas of this Fade place that are guarded by demons. I hardly pay attention. I'm too pissed off at the fact that I'm all alone. After accessing the Fade Pedestal and acquiring several shapeshifting abilities (I will admit, turning into a golem was pretty awesome) I finally find a way to get to Alistair and Wynne.

Wynne is surrounded by dead children. She's obviously in a lot of pain. I clap my hands together to try and snap her out of it. It doesn't work. I pinch her arm. That doesn't work either. One of the dead kids gets up and starts talking to her. That seems to work just fine. After defeating the demons, Wynne is released from the spell, and much to my dismay, she fades away into nothing. I return to the Fade pedestal and access Alistair's nightmare.

"Hey, it's great to see you again! I was just thinking about you. Isn't that a marvellous coincidence?" he's smiling widely and with a young woman. There are a few children running about as well. "This is my sister, Goldanna and her children. We're one big happy family at long last." I shake my head at him. "I'm happier than I've ever been," he goes on. "I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn't." I feel my heart lurch in my chest. I look over at the demon pretending to be Alistair's sister. It's obvious that Alistair will not leave this illusion that the demon has created for him. I bite my lower lip, unsure of how to proceed. I think back to Wynne's nightmare, and it seemed that the shock of seeing a dead child come back to life caused her to snap out of her trance. Perhaps shocking Alistair would work? I take a step closer to him, and he's still smiling down at me. I remove my plate gloves and let them drop to the ground. I take his hands in mine, and I see the look of surprise play across his features.

"Alistair," I say softly. "You're in the Fade. None of this is real."

His jaw drops. "Wh-what?"

"This isn't your sister," I continue, squeezing his hands softly. "Think carefully. Do you remember the Circle Tower, and the abominations…and the sloth demon?"

"Your voice," he whispers. "It's beautiful…" I was hoping he wasn't going to notice that…

"Yes, well. I'm not sure why you would picture me sounding like a girl, but that's beside the point," I say lamely. I certainly hope he buys it. Why is he looking at me like that? I nearly fall over when he leans in, claiming my lips. His fingers are running through my hair, and I feel my stomach flutter. This kiss is different than the one I'd shared with Leliana. With her I had been overtaken by lust. The sensation of Alistair's lips pressed against mine elicits a warmth that spreads through my entire being. He's shy in his embrace, his tongue tentatively pressing against my own. When he pulls away he's smiling goofily.

"You have **no **idea how long I've wanted to do that," he says. Damn, I knew it! My heart sinks.

"When we wake up it's probably best if you not act on that. I'm not gay, I'm sorry Alistair," I say softly.

His eyes narrow and he looks incredibly confused. "What? What are you talking about? Neither am-"

"No he cannot leave, he is ours!" demon Goldanna bellows. She reveals her true form and we're surrounded by crazy demonic creatures and even more WUCTs. We dispatch them easily.

"Go-Goldanna? I can't believe it, how did I not see this earlier?" Alistair says, shaking his head incredulously.

"It's the Fade Alistair. Nothing is as it seems," I explain.

"Well, if it's all the same I'd prefer it if you didn't tell our friends how easily fooled I was," he says sheepishly. "Though I don't suppose you'll be talking when we get back…"

"No, I don't suppose I will," I murmur. Much as I expect, he begins to fade away just as Wynne did. I am thoroughly overjoyed, however, when they return for our battle against the sloth demon. He's quite a tough bugger to kill, but we manage to do so. We are freed of the demon's trap and return to our journey through the tower.

* * *

"The Litany! Use it!" Wynne cries out. Shit! How am I supposed to fight this Uldred guy **and** recite some ancient scripture? I can't, and she knows it. I toss the litany at Alistair, and he lets out a yelp of surprise. I am not cut out for this hero business. He does as Wynne commands and recites the litany. One of the mages is saved. We continue this dance for what seems like hours. We go between attacking Uldred and reciting the litany. Wynne manages to keep us healed, thank the Maker. With one last stab to the chest, Uldred falls to the floor. Wynne and Alistair speak to the First Enchanter and we make our way back to Knight Commander Greagoir. As we descend the seemingly infinite amount of stairs, I think back on the time with Alistair in the Fade. He hasn't made mention of it, so I can only assume that he doesn't remember. My armour feels extremely stifling, and there's sweat trickling down my side. I feel myself becoming light headed. My vision swims.

"Clarence?" Alistair is looking at me worriedly. "Is there something - Andraste's blood, Clarence! You're hurt!" What is he talking about? I'm fine, I'm just sweating…oh bollocks, that's not sweat. I reach down to my side. My hand comes back sticky and warm. The faint smell of copper fills my nostrils.

When I wake up, I'm back at camp in my tent. Leliana and Wynne are watching over me. "You had us quite scared, young man," Wynne chides. "You should be fine now, I have healed your wounds."

"Thank you Wynne," Leliana says. "Can I talk to Clarence alone?" Wynne nods and departs. Leliana is squeezing my hand tightly, her eyes wide with concern. "I was so worried. I thought that I was going to lose you, just when the Maker had brought you to me."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. She presses a finger to my lips to silence me.

"Just don't do it again." She curls up next to me, and when she kisses me, I feel slightly guilty. I know that I have strong feelings for Alistair, but I also know that he could never feel the same way about me. I can never be what he wants me to be. I lack the proper equipment. So when Leliana's kiss becomes fervent, I relent. She rolls on top of me, slipping her tunic over her head. I prop myself up on one elbow and kiss her collarbone softly. My mouth trails down her chest to her breasts. My tongue darts out and caresses the pink nub of her left breast, and I suckle it greedily. She lets out a moan of pleasure as her hips rock against mine. She presses me back against the bedroll. She holds herself up with one hand, her free hand moving to tug at the lace of my breeches. Her fingers slip past the fabric of my small clothes and delve into my wet folds. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as her fingers slide in and out of me. Her thumb expertly teases my clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. My breathing has become ragged. I'm putty in her hands. My eyes squeeze shut as I tumble over the edge, sparks erupting behind my eyelids. Her lips press against mine to quell my need to cry out. When she pulls away she's smiling at me. "I'm not such a tease, am I?" she asks playfully.

I grin and roll on top of her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **I owe my readers a couple of apologies concerning the last chapter. First and foremost, I apologize for not posting a warning about the love scene between Clarissa and Leliana. It wasn't until a reviewer posted about it that I realized my mistake. Secondly, apologies for my slip regarding the litany. In my zeal to post a new chapter, I had accidentally written that Clarissa was reciting the litany. Obviously that's not possible if she's mute. I went back and edited, but for those that read before the edit, my sincerest apologies. Thanks to klarabella for pointing it out.

* * *

**9. Morrigan, Alistair & Clarissa**

Mother had said that this would not be an easy task. It was proving to be all the more difficult since the arrival of the meddlesome Chantry twit. I had fully expected the templar to confess that he had discovered Clarissa's true identity, especially since I was the one to advise against it. Twas a surprise indeed when he heeded my so-called advice and kept his knowledge under wraps. Perhaps another course of action is in order.

I watch them from my campsite. The bard is plucking at her lute, singing about the Chant of Light or some other ridiculous Chantry tripe. The templar is watching Clarissa, his gaze never faltering. Clarissa reads by the fire, her nose buried in a book that she had retrieved in the Tower. I am tempted to approach her and convince her to confess to Alistair, but I know this will only raise her suspicions. No, it would be best if he 'found out' by accident, despite his already knowing. I mull over several possible scenarios. So deep am I in thought that I don't notice Clarissa's approach until she is standing right in front of me.

"What comes, my friend?" I ask pleasantly enough. She smiles widely and places the book she'd been reading into my hands. I recognize it immediately. "What, you found Flemeth's Grimoire?" I am astounded. How did she know to look for it? I did not have a chance to tell her to keep an eye out for it while she was at the Circle of Magi.

"Do you think you can use it?" she asks after casting a glance over her shoulder, ensuring that no one is within earshot.

"I can certainly try. I will not squander this opportunity. I will let you know what I find," I reply.

"Good," she tilts her head to one side. "I wasn't sure what it was at first, that's why I was looking through it. Don't worry though, it made no sense to me. I only knew that you would want it because she had marked her name down several times. Otherwise I wouldn't have known to give it to you."

"Thank you," I say sincerely. She takes a step forward, then seems to think better of it and simply nods in reply.

"No problem. I'll be by the lake in case you need me. I need to think some things over," she says.

I watch her disappear into the brush surrounding our camp. I occupy myself by making several health poultices. It isn't long before I see the templar move in the direction that Clarissa had headed. Perhaps he has mustered the courage to confront her after all. If not, I can always put my plan into action. Either way, the truth will be revealed very shortly.

* * *

When I approach her, she's gazing up at the sky. Her back is pressed up against a large conifer, one knee pulled up to her chest. She seems to be lost in thought. I wonder if she's thinking about her family. I feel guilty about disturbing her when she obviously wants to be alone, but these opportunities to be together alone are so rare.

"Hi," I say tentatively. "I'm sorry to bother you…" I'm standing over her, and she glances up at me, her expression surprisingly serene. She smiles, patting the ground next to her. I sit down. Her desire **is** my command, after all. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened at Redcliffe." She tilts her head. "I just need to say thank you. You saved the Arl's family, even though it would have been easier to sacrifice Isolde, or slay Connor…I owe the Arl a lot, and the fact that we were able to spare his family…I just really appreciate everything you've done." She turns her gaze back to the stars, her fingers lacing around her knee. I watch her for a time out of the corner of my eye. The silence that has settled upon us is strangely comforting. Which is why I'm surprised when she breaks it. Well, sort of. She reaches into one of her pockets and extracts an amulet. She presses it into my hand.

"This…this was my mother's amulet. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?" I ask. She points in the direction of Redcliffe castle. "The Arl's castle? But why…" She gives me a knowing smile. "I guess he kept it this whole time. I'll have to ask him if – **when **he gets better. Did you remember me telling you about it? Wow. I'm used to people not paying attention when I talk about things." She loops an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me to her gently. "Is this where we break into dance? Because I'm game. Where's the minstrels?" She slaps my leg playfully and that's when it hits me. I look into her eyes, and I realize that I've completely fallen for this woman. Her cheeks turn an attractive shade of pink and she quickly glances away. I wonder if she could ever feel the same way about me. I know that she and Leliana have some sort of relationship. She had also mentioned that she had been involved with an elven girl before her family had been killed. Perhaps men don't interest her…But I swear I've caught her staring at me when she thinks I'm not looking. Andraste's blood, women are confusing!

* * *

"Wait, don't kill him," Leliana orders. I give her a look. We'd been travelling for quite some time, on our way to the Brecilian forest, when a group of bandits had attacked us out of nowhere. "These are no ordinary bandits," she explains. She turns to the man who appears to be the lead bandit. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"We were told to take care of the little red-headed girl, that's all," the man chokes out. My heart speeds up to a sickening pace. They were hunting for a red haired girl? Could Howe have possibly discovered my existence? "I don't know who hired us, but we were told to look for a red-headed Orlesian girl." I feel a pang of guilt at the relief that flows through me. They were searching for Leliana.

"Me? Why are you looking for me?" she asks, clearly shocked.

"I don't rightly know," the man replies. "But I can tell you where we were supposed to go once we finished the job." He tells us about the contact in Denerim. We let him go, even though I'm quite tempted to kick the guy repeatedly in the teeth. Leliana pulls me away from the group.

"It's Marjolaine, it has to be," she murmurs.

"Why now?" I whisper.

"Maybe she found out that I'm here. I would like to go to this contact if we are ever in Denerim. Would that be possible?" she asks. I nod and we head back to the group. Looks like we'll need to make a brief stopover in Denerim.

* * *

It had taken everything in my power not to pounce on Goldanna and cut out her tongue. The nerve of her, blaming Alistair for his mother's death! I can understand her being bitter about living a life of poverty, but it's not like Alistair had it easy. I clench my fists. Open and shut. Open and shut. He tries to explain himself, he apologizes profusely. She makes another scathing remark. He's crestfallen. My fists clench. Open and shut. Open and shut. We leave the house, and he's understandably upset.

"**That's** the family I've been looking for? That shrew of a woman is my sister?" he shakes his head. "That's not what I expected, to put it lightly. I guess I thought that she'd welcome me with open arms, I don't know. I suppose that's silly, isn't it?"

What do I tell him? I want to be kind and supportive, but I also feel like he needs to understand that there are cruel people in this world. I take out my trusty quill and vellum and write out my thoughts in one simple sentence.

_Everyone is out for themselves, you should learn that._

"I guess you're right. Anyways, thanks for being there for me. It means a lot, even if she was a complete and utter bitch," he frowns. I pat his shoulder reassuringly. I almost don't see the knight stalking towards us. His jaw is set, and he's reaching for his dagger. My eyes widen and Alistair turns to see what has caught my attention. It's too late. The knight buries the dagger into Alistair's chest all the way to the hilt. I scream out his name as he falls to my knees.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

* * *

**10. Alistair & Clarissa**

"Nnn...Ugh...Maker..." my eyelids flutter open and I'm in a room I don't recognize. My armour is resting against a nearby wall. My chest feels like a bronto has been sitting on it for days. Clarissa is sitting in a chair across from the bed I'm lying in. She's fast asleep, dressed in a filmy beige tunic and green breeches. I make a feeble attempt at sitting up. My reward? A sharp stabbing pain in my chest. I let out a strangled cry and Clarissa jerks in the chair, immediately alert.

"You're awake! Oh thank the Maker! Wynne said you might be out for days," she says worriedly.

"Takes more than a crazy knight to put me down," I grumble. Wait a second..."You just spoke!"

She looks at me sheepishly. "Surprise?"

I grunt by way of reply. "Not so much. I already knew."

Her eyes widen at this revelation. "Come again?"

"If you insist, though I don't remember doing it the first time," I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes at my jest, though I do detect a faint hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "What happened, exactly?"

"The knight who attacked you was named Ser Landry. He was apparently at Ostagar during the battle, and of course thought that we had betrayed the king. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what he was bellowing. I was too busy stabbing him repeatedly," she laughed softly. "I kind of lost control at that point. Anyhow, we're in one of the bedrooms at the Gnawed Noble Tavern," her eyes narrow. "You never answered my question. How did you know about me?"

"Yes, well. I happened upon you and Leliana one night at the lake, and I knew that men weren't supposed to be built quite like that," I can't help but smile as her expression changes from one of suspicion to absolute horror. "Morrigan caught me, and explained everything. You could have told me, Clarissa. No amount of torture at Howe's hands would have pried the truth from me."

"I was trying to protect you," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."

I wave a hand dismissively. "I think I understand. Obviously Duncan thought it best to keep your identity a secret. I know he's a hard man to argue with." She seems relieved that I'm taking this so well. There's a knock at the door and Clarissa answers it. When she returns by my side she's carrying a steaming bowl of broth.

"Don't worry, I didn't make it." She smiles. She places the bowl of soup on the end table and places her hands under my arms, gingerly lifting me into a seated position. I lick my lips as her breasts, now free of the bandages that normally flattened them, hang before my eyes. I wonder if she'd object if I took a little nibble? Gah! Clean thoughts, Alistair.

She begins to spoon the soup into my waiting mouth, "I wasn't even sure I was going to tell you," she admits. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Well, I did hear you scream my name when I fell. I'm pretty sure that would have been a big tip off," I reply.

"Wait a second," she says suddenly. "If you found out back then, seeing Leliana and I, then that means you knew when we were in the Fade..." she trails off.

"You mean when I kissed you?" I venture. Her face flushes and she nods. "About that, sorry I was so..."

"I'm surprised you remembered. I thought you had forgotten to be honest. And don't apologize. I liked it." She clears her throat and turns her attention back to the soup.

She liked it, did she? Good to know.

* * *

I leave Alistair to sleep after I've finished feeding him. He needs all the rest he can get. Wynne's healing had saved the day yet again, but his wound was much more severe than the one I'd received at the Tower. I wander into my room, anxious to get some rest after such a gruelling day. No such luck. Leliana is waiting for me. She's seated on the bed, her hands resting tensely on her knees. This can't be good.

"Clarissa," I say softly. She tilts her head to one side. "My name, it's Clarissa. It's something I like beautiful girls to know after we've been intimate." My attempt at humour falls flat. She's gazing at me pensively, chewing on her lower lip.

"I saw the way you looked at him," she says finally, "when he was stabbed. The look you gave…It's obvious you care deeply for him."

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "I honestly don't **know** how I feel Leliana. I can't tell if what I'm feeling for Alistair is because we've been through so much, or if there's really something there." Her gaze is fixated on the splintered, weathered planks of the floor. "I do know that I have feelings for you. I don't make a habit out of making love to random strangers only to toss them aside when another person comes around. I know that might not mean much…"

She glances up, "it's still something at least," she murmurs. "Alright. I'll let you get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

"Thanks Lel," I smile at her appreciatively. "We'll go see that assassin's contact first thing tomorrow morning, I promise."

"Goodnight Clarissa. Pleasant dreams," she whispers before leaving the room.

Sleep does not come immediately. What had started off as a day like any other was turning out to be a veritable shit storm. I was now torn between two people. One that I knew without a doubt had feelings for me, the other a man that had less than zero experience with women. At least, that's all I can assume given his background. Not that his lack of experience really mattered to me, I'm just concerned that he doesn't know what he's getting himself into…Ugh. Fergus would love to see me now, in yet another love triangle. It was bad enough when he'd jibed at me because of the goings on between Iona, Dairren and I. An emptiness settles over me. Fergus may still be alive, and I've done nothing in the way of searching for him. I'm making a promise to myself. As soon as we're done in Denerim and as soon as we've gained the support of the Dales, I'm making a stop in the Wilds to look for clues, something that might hint at Fergus' whereabouts. He needs to know what happened, and I'm in sore need of family.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters. *Sob*

* * *

**11. Alistair**

"What?! We're bringing the assassin with us now? Do you really think that's a good idea?" I ask, barely able to contain my rage.

Clarissa's arms are folded over her chest, and her boot is pressed against the assassin's chest. "Well, we have two choices: Kill him, and constantly have to look over our shoulders for another possible attack, or we could use him. Use his knowledge of these…Crows and try and figure out a way to use that knowledge to our advantage."

"I suppose," I say reluctantly. "But if there was ever a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

Clarissa removes her boot from the assassin's chest and helps him to his feet. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time that you choose to release me of it." The blond elf bows his head to Clarissa and…did he just wink at her? Of all the dirty, rotten…Ugh!

"Welcome aboard, Zevran," Clarissa smiles. "Let's set up camp for the night. That **is** what we were about to do, before you so rudely swept in and tried to kill me." She bats her eyelashes in a decidedly sarcastic manner. Good, she's not fooled by his pretty boy good looks.

It's not long before we've set up camp, and I start a campfire. I'm stoking the fire when the elf wanders up to me. "Alistair, perhaps you can answer a question for me,"

"And just **why **would I do that?" I snap. The assassin seems amused by my obvious dislike of him.

"It cannot hurt to ask. This Warden that you follow, the lovely Clarissa. Are the two of you…an item?" he asks while cocking an eyebrow.

My jaw clenches and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. "I don't see how that's any of your business," I mutter.

"I see, then you will not object if I pursue such a…delicious specimen," he casts a glance over at Clarissa who is in the midst of having a rather animated conversation with Morrigan. "After all, not many women are as strong as she, nor are they as benevolent. I barely know her and I already find myself quite…taken by her."

I grab hold of the elf's neck, the metal of my gauntlet cutting into his flesh. "You will not go near her," I hiss. "If you so much as lay a finger on her-"

"Alistair!" I hear someone shout. I look toward where the shout has come from and see Clarissa with her hands on her hips. She doesn't look happy. Morrigan on the other hand has a hand held to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. Clarissa stalks over to us, her face set in grim determination. "Unhand him this instant!" she growls. I release the slimy elf, as she commands. The little toad is rubbing his neck and…Maker is he **smirking **at me? Clarissa grabs hold of my arm and tugs me away from the group.

"Listen, I know you were against the idea of bringing him along," she murmurs. "I understand your concerns. But know this, I have already promised him sanctuary among us. That means that he should not have to worry about us killing him at the drop of a hat. I gave my word, not as a Cousland, but as a Grey Warden, that he would be safe among us. That having been said, I'm under no false illusions that the man tried to kill us, and as such I **am **keeping an eye on him. I refuse to have to watch the both of you. Tell me now if I can trust you to honour my word." Her arms are once more folded over her chest, and her chin is raised indignantly.

"I-of course Clarissa, I'm sorry that I let my emotions get the better of me," I say. Her arms drop to her sides and her expression softens.

"No, it's alright. I understand how it must all seem. And I know that Zevran can be a bit of a prat. But for the time being he's **our **prat, and I just want us to at least **try** to get along. Can you do that? For me?" she gazes up at me hopefully.

"Yes…yes of course. Anything for you." I smile at her and she steps forward, pulling me into an embrace. She smells faintly of sweat, and grass and smoke from the fire. I inhale deeply, eager to drink in every inch of her. I feel empty when she releases me and returns to the campsite, taking a spot beside our newest travelling companion…that bloody assassin. I grit my teeth and join in on the festivities.

* * *

We travel for several days, and Clarissa doesn't say much to me. She banters with our companions, eager to get to know Wynne, who she seems to look up to. She and Leliana also seem…close. I'm slightly jealous about this, but it's not my place to say, I hold no claim over her. What really bothers me is how close she's gotten with the assassin. She even offered him a gift. Until then things had been rather platonic, she'd ask him about his past, about his time as a Crow. Everything changed one night while we surrounded the campfire. I was warming my hands when I glanced up at Clarissa sitting next to the elf. He whispers something into her ear and she giggles, her cheeks flushing. The assassin then has the audacity to place his hand on her thigh…and she doesn't stop him! I can feel my blood broiling, the sound of my pulse hammering away at my temples. I want nothing more than to waltz over to the elf and strangle him. She murmurs something into his ear and stands, heading toward her tent. I can't take this anymore. I shoot a death glare at the assassin and storm into Clarissa's tent, not even bothering to announce myself. It shouldn't come as any surprise that she's dressed in nothing my her small clothes. My breath catches as I take in her curves, and not for the first time. Her eyes are widened in surprise as she gazes up at me; she's resting on her knees.

"A-Alistair," she stammers. "What are you doing?"

I'm immediately snapped out of my stupor. "What am **I **doing? I was about to ask you the same thing!" I growl. "Just what in Andraste's name are you doing, consorting with that assassin? Or is it your plan to bed each member of our camp? Is Sten next on your list?" She recoils as though I struck her.

"How **dare** you?" she hisses. "Who I am intimate with is none of your concern. Get out of my tent, **now!**" She turns away from me, and I feel all of the anger, all of the frustration drain from me, leaving nothing but shame behind. A woman that has proven her strength countless times, shown her compassion in the face of innumerable odds, all with a smile or a quirky remark. Everything she's done for me, and I throw it back in her face, for what? Some stupid misplaced jealousy. I leave her tent. I know that any pathetic apology I scrape up will do nothing but anger her further. It isn't until I'm back under the starlit sky that I hear the soft sobbing coming from her tent.

"You are a moron," the assassin says simply.

"Don't I know it," I reply darkly.

It's a balmy night, and I leave the flaps of my tent open in the hopes that Clarissa will pop in and announce that she's forgiven my boorish behaviour. As the dawn approaches, and the first beams of sunlight make their way into my tent I realize that she's not going to take the first step. And I don't blame her one bit. No, I'll have to be the one to make the first move. I wake before everyone else, not bothering to don my armour and settle instead on my linen tunic and breeches. I start up a fire and set to making breakfast. I'm mostly concentrating on Clarissa's ration, spreading an apple jelly on a slice of bread and frying up bits of the hare that Dog had caught the night before. It smells quite delicious, if I do say so myself, and it's not long before Clarissa emerges from her tent, rubbing her eyes groggily. Her red hair is in complete disarray, a tangled mess atop her head. It bears a striking resemblance to a mop. It hasn't grown out much in our travels, but has gotten to a length where she pushes it from her face with a thick strip of bandage. I would give my left eye to be able to run my fingers through it.

"Morning!" I say cheerily, holding out her plate of breakfast.

"Thank you," she croaks, taking the plate from my hands. I've come to realize that Clarissa is not a morning person despite waking before everyone else. Normally I would let her eat in peace, but I need to find my way back into her good graces. When she has finished eating the last of her breakfast hare, I decide to go in for the kill.

"Here, do you know what this is?" I ask. She raises an eyebrow at me.

"Is this a trick question?" she asks wearily.

"Yes, absolutely. I'm trying to trick you. Is it working? Aw, I just about had you, didn't I?" I say cheekily.

Her glance shifts from my face to the rose then back again. "You've been thumbing that flower for a while now," she points out.

"I picked it in Lothering," I reply. "I remember thinking 'how can something so beautiful exist in so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come with their taint and just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

"What are you going to do with it?" she asks.

"I thought that I might…give it to you actually. In a lot of ways I think the same thing when I look at you." I can feel the heat rising up my neck.

"I…don't know what to say," she says softly.

"I know it may sound stupid, but you haven't had any of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden ever since the Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's been all death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness." I'd been looking at my hands throughout my speech. When I turn my gaze to gauge her reaction, I notice that she's staring off into the distance. "Clarissa?"

"I…thank you for breakfast Alistair, it was very good." she stands quite suddenly, practically racing away from me. My heart sinks down to my knees…until I realize that she's taken the rose with her.

"Go after her, you fool," a voice hisses from behind me. It's Morrigan, eavesdropping as usual. Rather than stay and question her as to why exactly she's been listening in on our conversation, I take her advice and chase after the woman I've come to love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

**A/N: **Originally chapters 11 and 12 were meant to be one, but I split them up. Just seemed right. Hope you enjoy them!

**Warning: **This story (and this chapter in particular) is rated M for a reason, darlings. Smut ahead. 3

* * *

**12. The Wardens and the Shapeshifter**

The branches whip and slap into my face. I pay them no mind. I'm focused on one thing, and one thing only. I need to catch up to Clarissa. I don't know when or how my feelings for her became so intense, I only know that the thought of her leaving us…leaving me…is completely unacceptable.

The words that she had scrawled to me on that fateful day that my sister had rebuked me resonate through my head.

_Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that. _

It was about time I took matters into my own hands, so to speak.

* * *

We've been travelling for days, and we're still about a day away from where the Dalish encampment is rumoured to be. Of course Alistair would choose now, of all times, in my travel weary state, to show his interest in me. That is what he was doing, right? Why else would he offer me a rose?

I'm running through the edges of the Brecilian forest, ducking and narrowly avoiding the branches that threaten to scratch at the flesh of my face. My chest is tight from the exertion, and when I double over, spent from all of the sprinting, I realize how silly I'm being. Why am I running from Alistair? What kind of lunatic just darts off when someone offers a sign of their affection? My hands are pressed to my knees and I'm breathing heavily when he catches up to me.

"Clarissa! Look, I'm sorry for springing that on y-"

I spin on my heel to face him, my expression twisted into a snarl. "Why do you insist upon these games?" I snap. "First you all but refer to me as a whore, only to offer me a rose the next morning and tell me what a rare and wonderful thing I am. Just what is your-" Alistair places one hand on my shoulder, drawing me to him. The other he slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head. He bends down and covers my mouth with his. My mind goes blank and my arms hang by my sides as my head is tilted back by his grip in my hair and my mouth is taken, opened and moulded by the pressure of his. His tongue probes, and I numbly allow him entrance, welcoming it with hesitant touches of my own tongue. He pulls back slightly, his eyes glazed and heavily lidded.

"I want you Clarissa," Alistair says, his voice thick with lust. "I thought about waiting for the perfect time…the perfect place. But that doesn't exist. The only things that exist right now are the two of us." He gathers me up into his arms, my legs feel as weak as cooked noodles. He dips his head to trail a line of slow kisses down my throat and across my collarbone. My fingers dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He lays me down on the ground, all of his hesitation melting away as he pulls his tunic up and over his head. I follow suite, tossing my shirt to one side. His calloused hands glide over my abdomen, pausing only once as his hands reach my breasts. He cups them gently as though weighing them, then gingerly removes the strip of cloth that conceals them. The pads of his thumbs flick over my nipples and I feel a jolt of pleasure shoot down into my groin. He strips off my linen pants and small clothes in one fluid motion, the burning hunger in his gaze is smouldering. I lean forward and manically unfasten the lace of his breeches, sliding the thin fabric down past his hips. Though he's never performed this dance before, he seems to take to the steps with ease. He hoists me up into his lap, forcing my legs to circle his waist. His erection, now free of its constraints, rides my cleft, each motion he makes causes him to rock against my softly swollen flesh. He pulls me tighter to him, one arm circling beneath my bottom. The single motion causes his length to press into me, making me cry out in pleasure. Helplessly I begin to rise and fall, trying to get as much of him as possible. He lifts me after several moments, pressing me back down into the grass. He hovers over me, one hand holding himself up while the other guides his length into my slit. I let out a tiny mewl as he fills me completely. He grunts softly, now completely sheathed within me. With both hands on either sides of my head he begins to thrust deeply, dipping his head low to capture my lips with his own. I moan against him, my legs wrapping around his waist as I arch my back to meet each of his thrusts. He picks up speed, sweat beading on his brow as he buries himself into me. I can feel myself reaching the precipice of our coupling, I can feel the sudden need to throw myself over and into the brink. As the orgasm rocks my body, causing my muscles to contract around him, I hear his own strangled release. As his seed spills inside of me his motions become slower until we're a tangled heap on the forest floor, breathless. I'm not sure how much time passes before he props himself up on an elbow, gazing down at my flushed features. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and smiles.

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful. I am a lucky man," he murmurs softly. I bite my lower lip and reach up to pull him down for a kiss.

* * *

We've made a promise to Morrigan. We will slay her mother. Her mother has plans to possess her when she feels the time is right. I myself couldn't care less if the witch lives or dies, but it seems to mean a lot to Clarissa. We arrive at Flemeth's hut, and a gruelling battle ensues. We've taken Wynne along to keep us healed, though the rest of our party is composed of myself, Clarissa and Sten. We need as much power as we can if we're going to face **the** Witch of the Wilds. She's a tough old bitch-erm-dragon. Sten is knocked down several times, luckily Wynne's healing abilities prove useful beyond our wildest dreams. Clarissa is favouring her left arm. It dangles limply by her side. This doesn't bode well considering she's a dual weapon fighter. I try my damnedest to get in between Clarissa and Flemeth. As my shield bashes into the shapeshifting witch I tell myself that I'd do the same for any comrade.

The roar that Flemeth lets loose can be heard throughout the entire Wilds. She falls to her death. Wynne leans against her staff for support, Sten wipes his blade clean on the dragon's scales. Clarissa simply stares at the monstrous creature, her breaths heavy and ragged. I wander over to her and rest a hand on her shoulder. "She's dead," I reassure her.

"Is she?" Clarissa asks, her gaze never leaving Flemeth's corpse. "Is she really?"

When we return to camp, Clarissa heads straight for Morrigan. She's holding a leather bound book with a leafless tree on the cover. I don't hear much, only Clarissa declaring that the task is finished. Morrigan nods slightly, taking the book from Clarissa's hands. Clarissa turns and retreats to her tent. I think it best to give her some space, at least until she emerges for dinner.

* * *

The Warden does not quite understand the depth of my gratitude. My gaze never falters as she tells me of my mother's death. When she hands me the Grimoire, my heart is pounding in my chest, though my movements reveal no indication of my change in demeanour. I offer a single nod, and she departs.

This young woman has saved my life, and I intend to return the favour. Though I have not sworn any oath, nor have I given any vows to stand by her, she will soon realize just how much I appreciate her actions. This path will be different from what Flemeth had planned. This will be a gift of my own making, and the Warden will soon enjoy the fruits of her labours.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

**Warning: **This chapter contains sexuality and gore.

* * *

**13. Clarissa**

"I-I'm so sorry Oghren," I say softly. "I wish there was more that I could do." Oghren waves off my condolences and feigns indifference, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. I've just murdered his wife. The Deep Roads nearly drove me insane. Hespith's chants echoed through my mind. After we had defeated the broodmother, I stopped talking. Alistair attempted to strike up conversation several times to no avail. The only time I speak are the words of apology to Oghren upon killing Branka. Harrowmont is the chosen king. We have gathered the support of the dwarves against the Blight. Orzammar had been our final trip after having gained the assistance of the Dalish elves.

When we return to camp, I sit by the fire and stare into the flames. The taint had changed them into unspeakable horrors. I comfort myself, rocking back and forth. I do not feel my lips move, do not hear the whispers spilling forth.

_First day, they come and catch everyone_

(He will surely want to join me in the Calling…)

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

(Will he escape, or will he be part of the meal?)

_Third day, the men are gnawed on again._

(To partake in the flesh of my love…)

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

(What fate lies beyond this Blight?)

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

(Am I the other girl? When will it be my fifth day…)

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

(I hear the screams…)

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

(The taint that spews forth even now…)

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

(Please, let him be dead before they take my body…)

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

(The hunger from the Joining…)

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

(I am one with the Taint...)

I feel the icy blast tearing me from my trance. Morrigan stands before me, empty bucket in hand. "This ends now," she snaps. "You are **not** them, Clarissa. They were weak. Do you think so little of yourself that you truly believe you could ever become that disgusting creature in the Trenches? Snap out of it, fool!" She tosses the bucket aside and it lands on the ground with a heavy clang. My tunic clings to my body, icy water drips from my scalp to my shoulders, down my back and chest. She turns to Alistair. "Make yourself useful. Dry her and keep her warm. She should be susceptible to your comforts now." Morrigan storms off to her tent, and I watch her leave, mouth agape.

"For once I actually agree with her," Alistair smiles at me. "You will never turn into that scary blob thing. I wouldn't let it happen, for one. And also, I don't think tentacles suit you very well." He gathers me into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of my head. "You're all wet. Let's get you into some dry clothes." He scoops me up and carries me to my tent. Once inside he strips me of my soaking linens, which he tosses out the tent flaps. "We'll deal with that later," he winks at me. Before he can begin dressing me I pull him down toward me, desperate for his touch. "Thank you," I whisper into his ear.

"For what?" he asks.

"Just…thank you. Can you sleep in my tent tonight?" I ask, unable to mask the need in my voice.

"What can I say? Your wish is my command," he replies, his head dipping low to kiss me softly. Our coupling that evening is not driven by lust. We both feel the need to be a part of one another, two pieces of a puzzle coming together to form a whole. He shudders above me as I whisper his name. Our desire is sated for a time, but we soon find each other once again. I am nearly undone when he kneels before me and tastes me for the first time, his tongue probing my folds. My fingers tug at his hair, begging for release as I buck my hips and rub my sex against his mouth. My eyes roll back as I call out his name, louder this time. He revels in the moment, tells me that he loves hearing me call out his name, tells me that for every time we make love, he will not stop until I've screamed his name at least once. I can't help but smile at this. I roll on top of him and take him inside of me. He places his hands on my hips and guides my movements. He whispers my name countless times, and I must admit that the effect is just as strong for me as it is for him. We reach the crescendo and I collapse on top of him, snuggling into his chest. We fall into a deep sleep, still joined together while we enter the Fade.

* * *

Red. Everything is red. Someone is screaming. That someone is me. So this is what Oghren meant?

I do not recognize the body that lies beneath me. One of my daggers is buried in his face, his eyes, once two separate sockets, have now been joined together by the red steel of my blade. Grey matter oozes from multiple orifices. My breath comes in ragged gasps. Where is my other dagger? I look behind and down. This corpse has been eviscerated, the entrails spill forth into the cold stone of the floor. Sweat pours from my brow. My shoulders rise and fall in exhaustion.

"Congratulations, Warden. You're officially a Berserker."

I glance up at the dwarf. He's grinning down at me. The memories finally return. Howe has died by my hand and my family has been avenged. I look down at his bloody form beneath me. I can vaguely make out his large crooked nose, though it has been slightly rearranged on his face. The bastard has paid for his treachery. Mother and Father would be proud. I grasp the amulet that my father had given me on our quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I wonder idly if he would still call me Pup if he saw what I'd done to Howe. Perhaps Bereskarn was more astute. I let loose a peal of laughter and am mildly perturbed at how hysterical I sound. I nearly jump when Alistair places a hand on my shoulder.

"Clarissa? We should leave."

I nod and rise from the blood and gore that surrounds me. I have completed this task, and should I die today, I will die knowing that I have fulfilled my parents' last wishes. I killed Howe as a Cousland. I leave his rotting corpse as a Warden.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay in update! And I also apologize that this chapter is so long. I just didn't want to break it up at all.

**Warning: **This chapter contains elements of gore and sex. But not together at the same time, I promise. =P

* * *

**14. Alistair and Clarissa**

I'm standing over his body, chest heaving. Blood coats my armour…his blood. I'd once said that I wouldn't rest until I saw his head roll. Well, there it is, distinctly separate from his neck.

He deserves nothing less.

When Riordan had suggested that Loghain be made a Grey Warden, I was terrified that Clarissa would actually consider it. For one fleeting moment I could see myself walking out of the Landsmeet in a fit of rage because of Clarissa. I needn't have worried, however. Without hesitation she told Riordan that sparing Loghain was not an option. His blood would spill for his crimes. She then asked me to do the honours. As if I'd have it any other way.

Now Eamon is telling everyone that I'm going to be king. Wait, what?

"Sorry, I don't remember agreeing to that. When was that decided?" I ask, my eyes darting from Clarissa to Eamon.

"You see? He does not wish to claim any right to the throne, I shall continue on as queen!" Anora announces. Maker's breath, doesn't she ever tire from the sound of her own voice?

"I never said that!" I snap. "I just said that I never **agreed** to it."

"Clearly we need someone to make a decision. Warden, you should be the one to choose Ferelden's next ruler," Eamon says. My gaze snaps back over to Clarissa. She's chewing on her lower lip.

"I need to speak with Alistair first," she replies. She turns to me and whispers, "do you even want to be king?"

I sigh, "You know, at first I hated the thought of being king, but I've actually gotten used to the idea. Anora is too much like her father. She doesn't care about Ferelden, all she cares about is power. I may not know much about politics, but that's something I can learn. She can't suddenly **learn** to be a better person," I grumble.

Clarissa nods and then turns to Eamon. "I've made my decision." The room has gone silent. There's a first. Quiet among the nobility? Next thing you know Oghren will be giving lessons on proper etiquette. "Alistair will be king, and I shall rule by his side."

….

….

….

"Did I just hear that? Is this a dream? Because usually this is the part when I realize that I'm naked and everyone is staring at me," I glance around and realize that everyone **is **in fact staring at me. I look down to make sure I'm still fully suited up. Yep, armour still present and accounted for. Clarissa refuses to meet my gaze, which I find extremely frustrating. Eamon begins a speech about how Anora must relinquish all her rights as queen and swear fealty to me, which she refuses to do. Big surprise there.

"We cannot have civil war at a time like this!" Eamon argues. "We need to decide what to do with her." Ugh, politics. This is going to be awful. Already I'm regretting Clarissa's decision. Well, the king part anyway…that other thing she mentioned about us being together...

"Just lock her up in the tower for now. If I don't live through the battle, she can reclaim her place as queen. If I survive, we'll figure out what to do with her," I order.

"You would truly allow me to rule even after all of this?" Anora seems flabbergasted.

"I said **if** I don't survive. We can't very well leave Ferelden without a proper ruler, can we? The Blight is what's most important right now. Someone has to think of the country," I say.

"That's surprisingly sound judgment," she remarks.

"Yes well, don't go out telling everyone. I have a reputation to uphold," comes my rather caustic reply. I turn toward Clarissa. She's still facing the opposite direction, clearly avoiding me. As annoyed as I am with her, I still can't help but admire her unique beauty, even after her duel with Loghain. Covered in sweat, blood spatters marring her pale complexion, and her hair, which she had begun to pin up since it had grown out considerably, is in complete disarray. To many men she looks dirty. To many men she looks unkempt, unladylike, unpretty. To me, she looks radiant. I'll have to have a chat with her later about this "ruling beside me" business.

* * *

"So here's a funny story. A man suddenly becomes king and gets engaged all in one day, have you heard that one?" I ask upon entering the main den.

Clarissa is blushing furiously and giving me the most sheepish expression. "Are you angry?"

"No, not angry. I had come to terms with the king part. It was the second part I was surprised at. Are you…are you sure that's what you want?" I ask. I really hope she can't see the sweat that's broken out on my brow. I mean, it would make sense for her to want to be queen, it's just…I'd hoped she'd want to be with me…well for me. I'm half expecting her to reply that of course she wants to be the queen, what woman wouldn't? Again, I needn't have worried.

"I love you Alistair, of course I want to marry you," her cheeks take on an even brighter shade of red, if that's at all possible. She's suddenly become uncharacteristically self conscious, and her chin, which she normally holds high, has dropped to her chest. I remove one my gloves and cup her cheek, lifting her gaze to meet mine. I smile at her playfully.

"Well, that's a relief, saves me from having to ask. There is the issue of an heir…the people will want one of course, and I know that for someone with the taint conceiving children is difficult…and for two Wardens? I'm not even sure that's possible…" I furrow my brow, trying to think of a way around this problem when Clarissa's eyes brighten and she gives me the most devilish grin.

"Well, it certainly won't be for the lack of trying!" she says cheerfully. My heart melts for the millionth time. Maker, I'm such a fool in love.

* * *

"So what you're saying is…the one to strike the final blow…the one to kill the archdemon…dies?" I ask, my heart sinking. We're back at Redcliffe and after fending off a whole slew of darkspawn we've managed to get to the relative safety of the castle. That's when we hear that we'll have to turn around and head all the way back to Denerim, and that's when Riordan let's us know that he has official Grey Warden business to discuss.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Riordan replies. I resist the urge to punch him in the face. It's not his fault after all. Don't kill the messenger and all that.

"I'll be the one to strike the final blow," Clarissa states. My mouth hangs open. She can't be serious? I'm about to forbid her when Riordan steps in.

"It warms my heart to see you so full of courage, but you needn't make such a sacrifice at this point. I am the eldest Warden and therefore it is my place to take the final blow. Should I fail, however, it will be up to you two," he warns. "Now I think it's time that the two of you got some rest. You have a very daunting day ahead of you, and you'll need your sleep." As if we could sleep after an announcement like that. As I leave the room, I notice Morrigan skulking about Clarissa's bedchambers. She shoots me an icy glare, which I pointedly ignore. I wonder what she wants?

* * *

"Do not be alarmed, tis only I," she says as I enter my bedchambers. I'm not exactly alarmed, but I am a tad curious. "I have a plan, you see. A loop in your hole. I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice might be you. I am offering a way out. A way out for all Grey Wardens, so that such a death can be avoided."

"And what kind of way out is this?" I ask wearily.

"A ritual performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night. It is old magic, from before even the Circle of Magi. Some might even consider it blood magic, though I think you care little about that," she explains.

"Go on…" I have a feeling I'm really not going to like this.

"In order for this ritual to be performed, you must convince Alistair to lay with me, here, tonight. From this act a child will be conceived, bearing the taint. Then, when one of you makes the killing blow, the soul of the demon will seek out the child like a beacon. At this early stage the child will absorb the essence and survive, the archdemon is destroyed, and no Grey Warden need die as a result." She has taken a seat on the bed, and is looking up at me. She knows what I'm thinking. I have no problems with taking the final blow and making the sacrifice. That's not the issue here. My fear is that Alistair will be the one to die. This thought terrifies me, and it is this thought alone that drives me to accept her offer.

"I…I'm not sure if I can convince him…I will try," I reply.

* * *

It's an hour later, and Morrigan reappears, I've been sitting stock still on Alistair's bed. I was trying my damnedest not to imagine the kinds of things that Morrigan was doing with him. She places a hand on my shoulder and my muscles stiffen even further.

"Clarissa, I guarantee it is not as you imagine," she says softly. Softly? This is definitely not the Morrigan I've come to know. She turns me so that I am facing her. She takes a seat next to me on the bed. "Did you really think I'd ravage that moronic dimwit? Honestly Clarissa, what do you take me for? I cannot stand him in the least. Most importantly, you are like a sister to me, and I could not bear…" she sighs. I know she finds it extremely difficult to express her feelings about such things. "I asked him for his consent first. Which he very hesitantly gave. I then had him stand in one corner and…pleasure himself. I told him to think of you, and to let me know when he was about to climax. He must have been in a hurry, or you make him incredibly aroused, because within minutes he was at the moment. I know for a fact from your campsite sessions he can last longer, so I can only assume that he was beating himself raw to get it over with. The announcement came, and I cast a mind blast spell on him. I took the seed inside of myself, and left the idiot in your room."

I'm gaping at her now. "Wh-what? You mean you just left him in there? All stunned and naked and…oh dear." Morrigan is actually laughing. I'm not sure whether to slap her or join in. I'm not even sure what they did actually constitutes sex. "So…it wasn't all sweaty sex and orgasms?" She looks at me like I've grown a third head. "Okay, I get it. You think he's an idiot and would never lower yourself to such a thing if these weren't dire circumstances."

She reaches to her medicine pouch and extracts a small vial. "I want you to be able to sleep tonight. You need your rest. Take this, and go see Alistair. This may be your last night together. I suggest you make the most of it." She stays to make sure I take the sleeping draught and leaves. I follow soon after to see Alistair. As I stand in front of my bedroom door, the events leading up to this very moment play through my mind. The death of my family, the trip to Ostagar with Duncan, pretending to be a man, gathering an army, the death of Howe and Loghain, making Alistair a king…All of it seemed so surreal. I had many regrets, but one in particular rears its ugly head as I stand in front of my bedchamber door. Many would think it was the fact that I'd managed to convince Alistair to participate in a sex ritual with Morrigan, no matter how impersonal it had been. They would be wrong. Many would think it was the fact that I'd left my parents to die in Highever in order to follow Duncan. They'd be wrong too. What springs to mind at that precise moment is an image of pale blue eyes, beautiful red hair, long slender fingers and a soft, lilting Orlesian accent. When I'd told her that I was in love with Alistair, I had seen the heartbreak in her eyes. She tried to brush the moment aside as being awkward, but I knew better. I don't regret choosing Alistair, but I do regret the pain that I caused Leliana. I had almost lost all hope of remaining friends when one evening by the fire, I saw her giving me an impish grin. That was when she asked for details about my sex life with Alistair. I must have looked quite foolish with my mouth hanging open and my eyes bugged out, for she let out one of her characteristic peals of laughter. We curled up together by the fire and traded stories of our childhood, and our bond transcended any sexual union that I'd shared with her. I snap myself out of my reverie and open the door. I see Alistair sitting on the edge of the bed. He's in his small clothes and he's staring dazedly at the wall.

"Are you alright?" I ask tentatively. He looks at me and shakes his head.

"I can't even remember what happened. One minute I'm thinking about that time in the Brecilian Forest when you had your legs wrapped around my neck and how loud you were screaming my name, and the next…nothing," he scratches the back of his head. I wander over to the bed and climb behind him, running my fingers over the taut muscles in his shoulders.

"I remember that night," I murmur into his ear. "I still have the scar on my shoulder from where you bit me so savagely. I swear I thought you'd turned into one of those werewolves." He chuckles and reaches around, pulling me into his lap.

"No, I didn't turn into a werewolf, but I do think that I managed to get fleas from one of them," he jokes. As he cradles me in his arms, he begins to strip me out of my tunic. "You know, despite the fact that I've just been molested by an apostate, I feel strangely…frisky." His voice has taken on that throaty timbre that I love. He's managed to pull me out of my tunic and breeches. "It may be our last night together," he murmurs.

"Don't say that," I whisper. "You never know what might-Oh!" It's really hard to concentrate when a sexy ex-templar is nibbling on your collarbone and slowly making his way to your breasts.

He tugs down the strip of cloth that covers my bosom. "This thing is so silly," he muses. "What's the point of it? To keep me from getting my mouth fastened on what's underneath? I think you should just quit wearing the bloody thing." As if to prove a point he takes one of my breasts into his mouth and begins to suckle greedily. I let out a soft mewl and my head lolls back. One of his hands glides up my thigh. He moves my legs apart and pushes the fabric of my small clothes aside. One finger enters me easily while his thumb flicks and rubs my clitoris. My breath catches and I moan. He pulls his mouth away from my breast and grins at me. "I think someone is just as frisky as I am," he cocks an eyebrow and plunges a second finger into my wet slit.

"Blood of Andraste, Alistair! You'll be the death of me…" I groan. I whimper when he pulls his hand away. "You're a tease!" I throw a pout his way. He laughs and shifts me so that I'm lying on the bed fully. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he stands and hooks his thumbs into his own small clothes and pulls them down. He kicks them away and I'm quite pleased by the fact that he's already standing at full attention. He wastes no time as he descends on me, guiding himself into me in one swift thrust. I let out a loud cry, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist. His thrusts are painfully slow, and he's gazing down at me, gauging my every reaction. He's told me on more than one occasion that he loves to see the exact moment that I climax, and with him it happens quite frequently. When his hips make a circular motion I nearly bite clean through my bottom lip. My muscles tighten around his hardness and he lets loose a grunt. His pace begins to increase, his thrusts become more fervent. Each of his movements elicits a cry from my lips, and my fingernails rake down his back. I hear him whisper my name into my ear and his entire body stiffens as he spills himself into me. We are both spent, and I'm feeling slightly light headed, from both the love making, and no doubt the potion that Morrigan gave me. It isn't long before I'm nestled in his arms, deep in the spinning mists of the Fade.

* * *

I bring Alistair, Wynne and Shale to the final confrontation. I need both brute strength and healing magics if I'm to survive this battle. Each of my companions speak to me privately, and I can see in their eyes that they think this will be the last time that we see each other. I've just said my goodbyes to a tearful Leliana when Morrigan storms up to me.

"So this is it? After all that you are not taking me with you to the final battle?" she has her hands on her hips.

"In your delicate condition?" I joke.

She laughs, raising an eyebrow at me. "I trust you had a good night with Alistair? Otherwise you would be in a much surlier mood I suspect."

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes." I elbow her playfully. "I need someone to stay back here that has some common sense. I also wouldn't want the archdemon to eat you before I get a chance to cut off his head. Now get to work before I tell Leliana about your fragile state. I'm sure she'd love to pester you about it," I smile at her.

"Hmph," she scoffs. "Tis not I who is in a fragile state," she says cryptically before turning to walk away. I shake my head. Morrigan will always be a mystery to me. But I have more important things to worry about. I have an archdemon to kill.

* * *

Alistair lays on the ground unconscious, Shale is tossing large boulders at the dragon. Wynne is leaning against her staff. I toss her a potent lyrium potion. "Please, revive Alistair…" my voice is much raspier than I'd expected. She shoots a glance toward the gaping wound in my left shoulder. I'm clutching it, trying to stop the bleeding. "I'll be fine," I growl. "Just heal Alistair, then deal with me." She nods and moves toward him. The dragon has little life left. It's time. I tamp down on the pain in my shoulder and let loose a bellow, running at the archdemon. I grab the first longsword I can find, which happens to be sticking out of a nearby genlock corpse. I feel Wynne's healing magic pour through me as I leap at the dragon and drag the sword through its neck. Its shriek reverberates through the air, but I pay it no mind. My blade slices through the archdemon's head. A beam of light shoots from the monster, blinding me. I hear the soldiers around me begin to cry out in victory, but all I can see is that beautiful light. It surrounds me, warms me. It makes me feel whole.

I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember is Alistair carrying me away from the beast's corpse, and he's gazing down at me with a worried expression. I smile up at him. "We did it," I whisper. The serenity that fills me has yet to fade. Relief fills Alistair's eyes and he leans in to press his lips to mine. I feel his tears splash against my cheeks.

"Never scare me like that again," he mutters against my mouth. His forehead is pressed to mine.

"I won't," I whisper. "I promise."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

**A/N: **I leave you all with this final chapter. Thank you to all of my reviewers and readers. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I loved writing it.

* * *

**15. Epilogue**

I left following the final battle. It was not hard to slip away, everyone had been busy revelling in their victory over the beast. True to her word, Clarissa did not follow me. I was somewhat disappointed at that, though perhaps I should take it as a sign that she loved me enough to respect my wishes. Love. It was not something I had believed in when we had first met in the Wilds. I knew only of what Mother had taught me, and it took quite some time to realize that much of what Mother had taught me was wrong.

I travelled through the Frostback Mountains for a time, keeping to the isolated portions of land. I was forced to spend time in small villages in order to pick up provisions to survive. My life was a quiet and simple one. I had very little trouble with people. No one chased after me accusing me of being an apostate.

Several years passed, and curiosity got the better of me.

I set off toward Denerim, intent on seeing her one last time. I found her in the palace gardens, and she looked just as I last remembered. There were small differences of course. Her red hair now hung past her shoulders. Her hips were slightly fuller, and she was wearing a dress in place of her usual battle armour. I approached in the form of a wolf, which could easily pass as a stray dog.

She laughs and beckons the small child that runs about at her feet. I venture closer and take in the child's appearance. There is no doubt in my mind.

Flemeth had sent me with the Wardens for a reason, but once I learned of her treachery, that reason became useless to me. All I wanted was her death. And Clarissa had given me that. I owed her my life.

So I offered her one in return. The potion I had offered her that night was not a sleeping draught. It was the very element that was required for Mother's ritual to work. As if I would ever let that dolt Alistair touch me. I shiver at the thought.

Her son leaps into her arms, a smile playing across his lips. He has his mother's silky red hair, and he has his father's nose and mouth. But his eyes…

They say the eyes are windows to the soul, and this boy's soul is special. This boy has the soul of an ancient.

He has the soul of an Old God.


End file.
